Fall of the Angels
by ProtegoMaximaMyHeart
Summary: NaNoWriMo 2012 entry. A post-Reichenbach SuperWhoTorchLock crossover. Sherlock and John are reunited, although through the most unexpected circumstances.
1. Take Me Back to the Start

**Disclaimer: Sherlock, Torchwood, and Doctor Who, are property of BBC One and their respective owners.**

**A/N: Because this is a NaNoWriMo entry, my inner editor has to take a break. I know. It kills me inside.**

It was a cold and rainy September morning.

But then again, every day felt cold to him.

It must have been at least a year since the fall. The fall of his best friend and the most human man he had ever known.

He meant it when he said he was so alone and he owed him so much. John was on the brink of destruction before Sherlock entered the picture, breathing a new life into him. It was almost as if there was an invisible and unbreakable force that tied them together from the day that they met. One thing was certain from everything they've been through: They were absolutely two halves of a whole. With Sherlock gone, John isn't sure that he'll be able to fill in the void. He needed him, not just because Sherlock gave him the adrenaline that he needed, but because Sherlock was everything to him.

He was the midnight rows over the severed head.

He was the chases all over London.

He was the comfort when John woke up screaming from night terrors.

He was takeout dinners eaten on the stoops of crime scenes.

He was 221B Baker Street.

He was **_home._**

John went and visited his grave every year on the anniversary of his death. Any other time he thought about going just made all the more too painful. After the fall, he had become significantly more withdrawn from everyone, especially those down at the Yard. He had stopped taking cases, despite Lestrade's pleas for him to come in and help out. He suspected that Lestrade wanted him to come in all the time to make himself forget about doubting Sherlock. John remembered seeing the look on Lestrade's face when he came in to arrest Sherlock; it was nothing short of self-loathing.

Anderson and Donovan had learned to stay away from John after he had made an appearance on BBC News, defending Sherlock and his credibility. He had this energy and this ferocity around him that the two of them learned not to trifle with.

Mrs. Hudson wasn't faring well after Sherlock's death. He had been like a son to her and his absence took a toll on her, both physically and emotionally. She was looking a lot more exhausted lately, and she felt so emotionally drained. Often times, her and John would have their meals together because they knew that they couldn't get through this alone.

The leaves crunched beneath his feet and the rain was softly pattering, echoing throughout the deserted cemetery. As he got closer to Sherlock's grave, he felt his lips twitch into something that could almost be considered a smile.

There were bouquets among bouquets surrounding the grave, all with cards loudly proclaiming "I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES", "MORIARTY WAS REAL", and "I AM FIGHTING JOHN WATSON'S WAR". Blue scarves, deerstalker hats, and even a couple of riding crops adorned the grave, making it more of a memorial. John snorted, imagining Sherlock's reaction to all of this. He was never one for sentiment.

His mobile beeped and he dug it out of his pocket without even looking at the contact, opening the message. "Don't blink. -MH". John rolled his eyes, thinking that it was a silly message, and shoved it back in his pocket.

As he got closer to the grave, something caught his eye. In the middle of the pile of tributes to Sherlock, there was an envelope with his name on it. Cautiously, he picked it up and turned it over. The weight was heavy, indicating that it was from someone on high and the handwriting was curly, indicating it was most likely a female.

He opened it and started reading.

"Dear John,

You don't know me yet but you will in time. You must read this VERY carefully. In this graveyard, there are angel statues all over, and they look like they're crying. Now, they look friendly, but don't be fooled. They're actually called Weeping Angels, and according to the Doctor, they're also known as "The Lonely Assassins." If you ever played Grandmother's Footsteps when you were little, that's how they work. When you see them, they freeze into rock. If you can't see them, they move incredibly fast. Faster than you can ever imagine. So know this, when you see one, DON'T BLINK. If you do, there are two things that can happen. They can send you back in time to die on the day you were born, feeding on the time energy difference. Or they can snap your neck."

John looked up and glanced at a statue and then back down to the letter.

"I hope you didn't look up, John. Because that means that they're coming for you. I wish I could come and help you out right now, but I promise you this, help is on the way. Remember. Don't blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back. Don't look away. And don't blink. Good Luck. Best wishes, Amy."

John was halfway torn between laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation and being absolutely terrified at the thought of being killed or sent back in time by a statue.

He suddenly felt a presence right in front of him, and the hair stood up on the back of his neck. His heart started pounding and he dared to look up.

There it was. A demonic angel, mouth wide open, and hands like claws ready to end him. Well, whoever Amy was, he could have told her there was no way he was blinking with this thing staring into his soul.

Help was on the way, she said. Who the hell was around that was going to help him out of this situation? His eyelids started twitching, fighting to close. Suddenly, something occurred to him. He could just blink one eyelid at a time so that he can stop worrying about his eyes drying out. Too bad he could only do it for so long.

That solved at least one of his problems.

There was no way that he could just stay here forever in fear of a bloody statue, but it didn't seem like he had any other options.

It felt like forever that he was just standing there, looking at this statue. It occurred to him that he could just start slowly backing away from the Weeping Angel. What a load of good that would do. It's a start, he thought. His anxiety only decreased by minimal increments as he slowly inched away from the statue, his eyes never leaving it.

His ears perked up when he heard a noise. It wasn't like anything he had ever heard before, but it almost sounded like an ancient machine wheezing. He was trained to snap his head to the source of the sound, but he was rooted to the spot. It took a split second before he realized that the sound wasn't coming from anywhere...but more like it was surrounding him. With that in mind, it took almost all of his strength to not look around as things started to materialize around him.

He could make out some sort of tall tower in front of the angel, while there were three faint figures surrounding it. Voices started fading in and out, as if from a dream. It was a mixture of frantic urgency and authoritative barking.

There was no way that this could all be happening. Nothing was supposed to happen to Dr. John H. Watson. His life was supposed to be ordinary. He supposed that that was an utter lie since Sherlock entered it.

Before long, the angel was gone and he was left standing in a control room. The three people in front of him collapsed in front of the tower, looking utterly relieved to see him, which puzzled him.

There were two men and a woman. One of the men was tall, thin, and blonde. His hair looked like it defied gravity with the way that it was standing up. The other man was taller than the first man, but a brunette, and wore an outfit that reminded John a lot of his history professor at Uni: A tweed jacket, a red bow tie, suspenders, and brown trousers. The woman was the shortest of the trio. She was very pretty with hair so red it could have rivaled Harry's hair.

They all looked at each other, seemingly silently communicating. John just stood there, awkwardly shuffling in place. The redhead nodded and the brunette's face lit up, like Christmas had come early for him.

"Ah, hello John! You're probably wondering where on earth you are and how this managed to appear around you. No matter, you'll learn about it in time. Now, Amy, I want you to ring up that nice lad that gave us the coordinates to John's location. We're going to have to meet up with everyone else. Rory, call River and let her know that we're going to pick her up on the way to Cardiff."

Rory and Amy started darting around the console, fiddling with everything on it.

John was about to demand exactly what this man had just said, but the words had gotten lost in the back of his throat as he heard the name Amy. He swallowed thickly and looked around. Was she the one who sent that letter?

The room was quite spacious and looked alien. He slowly backed towards the door, and was almost ready to run. The thought of that Weeping Angel still out there stopped him before his hand brushed the handle.

The man had returned to the console and started pulling a bunch of knobs and rotating various dials. The whole room violently jerked and everyone was thrown from one side to another.

"I thought you said that this could stand up to a Weeping Angel feeding on the time energy!" Amy shouted.

"Oi! I'm still working on that little bit!" He shouted back.

"Well, you didn't do a very good job with that now, did you?" Rory snapped.

They all squabbled like a family, which John thought was amusing and alarming, given that the Angel was still outside. Amy rolled her eyes and pushed the brunette aside, muttering nonsense as she fiddled with a few more things. The room stopped moving and Amy adjusted herself with a huff.

"I could've easily done that. And where on earth did you learn that?" the man frowned.

"Well you didn't now, did you? Also, I have your wife to thank for that." She glanced at John and did a double take. Apparently she had forgotten about him.

"You're so rude!" She smacked him in the arm. "You didn't even introduce yourself to John. I'm so sorry! I'm Amy, and that is my husband, Rory."

Rory peered from behind the tower and waved. John waved back.

She nudged the brunette.

"Hello, I'm the Doctor!"

John furrowed his eyebrows, confused.

"Doctor? Doctor Who?"


	2. I'll Pick Up These Broken Pieces

It hadn't been easy, seeing John's life get absolutely sucked out of him. What broke him the most was seeing John fighting to break through the homeless network, begging and pleading to see his friend. He remembered when he introduced him to Sebastian, how it stung that John called him his colleague instead accepting the idea of being Sherlock's friend. Why did this have to be the time that John let people know that he was Sherlock's friend?

He didn't really believe in anything but science, but now he considered karma to be something that he believed in. He also believed in John.

After he got rolled into the morgue, he cleaned up, and gave Molly his thanks for everything, leaving her with a contact number so he can keep tabs on John. He went out back and hailed a cab and made his way to the Diogenes Club. One look from one of the men working there and they led him to the room to where his dear brother was waiting.

Mycroft was sitting in his usual easy chair, reading the Daily Mail. The paper folded down to reveal a set of weary-looking eyes. They gestured to the chair in front of him, and Sherlock sat down, sinking into it.

"You know why I had to do it, didn't you, Sherlock?" He sighed, rubbing his forehead and putting the newspaper on the table next to him.

"Yes. Giving him the perfect ammunition for my downfall and leading him into thinking that he had the upper hand," Sherlock replied. "But I wasn't counting on putting everyone else's lives in danger."

"I told you before: caring is not an advantage," Mycroft regarded him with a long glance before drinking some tea. He looked up and was bewildered to see Sherlock looking so despondent.

He sighed. "I...I need to get out of London. As fast as possible. If I don't get out of here soon, you'll never be able to get rid of me because I won't be able to stay away from John."

Mycroft nodded and picked up his mobile. "That can be arranged. Where do you want me to send you to?"

"I don't care. But preferably out of the country."

"Is Cardiff acceptable? I'm connected with the Welsh Government and they can find a place for you to work in the meantim-"

"No." Mycroft paused while he was about to make a phone call.

"Sorry?"

"I said no. I need to start tearing down Moriarty's web down as soon as possible before anymore of his men try and come back," Sherlock insisted.

"Understood. James Moriarty's criminal web could span across continents. I'm sure that the Cardiff police will be glad to have you in their services. I will let their people know that this is the matter of the greatest secrecy and therefore of trust," Mycroft affirmed. "There will be a cab waiting for you outside, waiting to take you to the airport. You can use the company plane in order to travel. I suspect traveling by bus or on land would be ill-advised at this point."

Sherlock rose up from the chair, as did Mycroft, and Sherlock hugged him. The elder Holmes was baffled for a moment, but soon returned it. It had been far too long since either of them had shown any sign of affection toward the other. He sighed and hugged his little brother tighter. Sherlock really was a pain in the arse sometimes, but seeing him this upset painfully reminded him of when they were little. Of when Sherlock inadvertently deduced that Daddy was being unfaithful to Mummy, leading to the divorce. He wished that they could go back to a time where things were a lot simpler; before innocence gave way to the harsh reality of the world.

Unfortunately, wishing for such things was useless. Mycroft let go of Sherlock and held him at arm's length and observed him. Just because he wasn't the world's consulting detective didn't mean that he wasn't without his own set of Holmesian observational skills.

Sherlock's hair had a minimal level of disarray. However, whenever his mood took a turn for the worse, it became much more unruly, making him look more like a mad scientist. At this point, his hair was sticking out every which way. His eyes were normally alight, taking in every detail around him. Now they looked as if all the vitality had been sucked out of him. Sherlock's skin was normally bright, but his complexion was a lot duskier, adding to the aura of exhaustion that radiated from him. The way that Sherlock just sank into his brother spoke volumes. His body language is normally cat-like: agile, smooth, and precise.

Sherlock has changed so much and it was both good and bad.

If there was one thing that he could take away from his observations, Mycroft concluded that Sherlock forcing John to witness his suicide in order to save him was without a doubt one of the most painful things that he had done in his life. John had seared himself onto Sherlock's heart, despite people's claims that Sherlock didn't have one, and made him a good man. He was already great, but he desired to be good.

Sherlock was very resilient and had developed the habit from him of divorcing himself from his emotions for reasons like this: to protect himself and others that he cared about from heartbreak. Mycroft wished that this wasn't so, but that's the way that things were.

"Sherlock, if you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to call me," Mycroft pleaded. He was known as the Ice Man, but he would do anything for Sherlock because he would always see him as the rambunctious boy who jumped off furniture and cried to his brother for help.

Sherlock's eyes softened for a second, reflecting his gratitude, but then hardened back to the typical Sherlockian manner. His posture became more erect, ready to take on the world.

He nodded and headed out of the room. Before exiting, he turned around and gave a small smile, "Thank you, Mycroft."

Mycroft nodded, sat back down in his chair, and resumed reading. He heard the doors close and he slumped forward, holding his head in his hands. It wasn't easy holding the family together when it broke so long ago, and he hadn't asked to become the father figure, but this was how things were.

Sherlock was entirely lost in his own thoughts on the way to the airport. There were so many things that he wished he said to John on the roof. How he was his best friend. How he was his other half. How he wished things were easier. How he couldn't imagine his life without John.

He had learned about sentiment from him and was almost troubled at the influx of new information. The sentiment didn't just apply to John, although most of the feelings revolved around his doctor. They applied to the people he was closest to: Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, and Mycroft. They were all a part of his family and he didn't think that that would even be possible. He was used to being alone for so long because he knew that being along was what protected him.

Until John came along.

The second day they met, John had killed a man for him. For him. That was something that Sherlock couldn't even begin to fathom. When he realized that it was this ordinary man who had saved him, he knew then that John was anything but ordinary. That John was something that needed to stay around. That John could make him better if he wanted to, and that's exactly what he did.

While Sherlock had his moments where the filter between his brain and mouth didn't exist, John was there to slam it back into place and keep him in check. John was also there to make sure that he had at least some sustenance so that he didn't starve to death, but those attempts were waved off with a shrug. Sherlock always made sure that John ate, wherever they went. He could give a rat's arse about his own needs, but John's were especially important to him because they were one and the same. Sherlock couldn't afford for anything to happen to John. He didn't think he could handle it.

Too bad things could change in the blink of an eye.

Before he knew it, he was touching down at the Cardiff airport. Things went pretty fast considering the lack of luggage that he had on him. He had other pressing matters to attend to before he could even think about his living situation for the coming months.

He was ushered into a private car and driven from the airport to the South Wales Police station. His mobile buzzed and he opened it. There were two messages. One was from Molly, the other from Mycroft.

"You wanted the truth, but you're not going to like it: I stayed with John after you left. He's an absolute mess. It seems like he's nothing without you, Sherlock. I know it's going to be a while before you return, but please come back soon. I'll keep you updated. xoxo Molly"

Sherlock felt a wave of panic, but quelled it. He had to do this for everyone, but especially for John.

"I'm sending you to the South Wales Police Headquarters for further delegation of your duties while in Wales. Good luck. -MH"

Sherlock entered the police station and approached the front desk. The person working there looked up expectantly.

"Mr. Holmes?"

He nodded.

He got up from his chair and went around, ushering him into an empty room with a table and two chairs facing each other on opposite sides. Sherlock sat in one of them and waited for further instruction.

"Please, have a seat. The chief constable will be with you in a moment," the receptionist said while closing the door behind him.

A minute later, an older man came into the room. Sherlock stood up and shook his hand and sat back down.

"Well, it's exciting to finally meet the famous Sherlock Holmes. Your reputation with helping the Yard is something," he beamed. "My name is Chief Constable Ellis. Your brother told me all about the situation and I think I know just the division that can use your help. How would you feel about dealing cases that are more, erm, supernatural?"

Sherlock's first instinct was to smirk, but after the events of Baskerville, he was open to believing anything.

"I assume they're having a difficult time over there?"

Ellis laughed. "Like you wouldn't believe. They've been stumped on a pile of cases for months. I really think that you can help connect the dots and crack them."

"I'll take that division," Sherlock replied.

"Great! You'll be working in the Eastern division, which is in Cardiff. You're in Brigend, which isn't terribly far away. So if you need anything, either call us or just come in," Ellis noted.

"Of course," Sherlock said.

Ellis stood up. "You can go sit in the lobby. I'll have a police car escort you to Cardiff. Can't be too careful nowadays, can we?"

Sherlock stood up and shook Ellis's hand again. "Thank you Chief Constable. I can assure you that I'll do what I can to help out."

"Ah, Mr. Holmes, I'm sure you'll do a fine job. Take care," Ellis smiled at him and left the room.

Sherlock sat in one of the chairs and read the paper while waiting. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark figure.

"Ready, Mr. Holmes?"

He looked up and it was a policewoman this time. She smiled and walked out of the station with him towards her car.

"I don't let a lot of people who aren't policemen sit in the front," she admitted while they both got in, "but I got orders from the Chief Constable. I gotta listen to the boss, of course. Oh, my name is Morgan by the way."

They made idle chatter on the way to Cardiff, in which Sherlock learned that Morgan was also a mother to twins. She reminded him of the Woman in a sense: elegant but with a hidden savagery dedicated to protecting the people of Wales.

She dropped him off with a business card with contact information to Headquarters. They bid their farewells and Sherlock was left with another task to complete.

He walked into the police station and looked around, focusing in on if anyone was going to recognize him. It was a pretty busy day at the station, even for one that was normally busy. He noticed that there was a short brunette woman running around everywhere, barking orders. She was looking everywhere and locked eyes with him. He was taken aback by the sharpness in her gaze, but held his ground as she approached him.

"Mr. Holmes?" She offered her hand and he took it.

"Sherlock, please."

"Well, Sherlock, I'm Constable Gwen Cooper. But you can just call me Gwen. We just got word of another murder and we were about to leave. Would you like to come along?"


	3. Home is Whenever I'm With You

Sherlock followed Gwen onto the scene. He regretted not bringing some sort of raincoat with him on his travels because it was an absolute downpour this night. The crime scene was in an alleyway, with people in white jumpsuits going around everywhere.

He stood back while Gwen talked to one of her colleagues while drinking some coffee. From what he gathered, it was nothing out of the ordinary, until everyone cleared the scene. She ran up to another of the officers to inquire more.

"Excuse me, sir. What is it? What's happening?"

"Buggered if I know. It's order from above," he replied.

"But the body's still in there though, isn't it? We can't just leave it," Gwen argued.

"Move back, they said, clear the site. Special access, they said."

Gwen sounded confused. "For who?"

"Torchwood," he declared.

Right then, a large black SUV rolled onto the scene. A group of four people marched out of the van, seemingly led by a man in a long grey coat that looked like his. They gathered around the body and took out all the supplies that they were carrying with them.

"Who's Torchwood?"

"Special ops or something. Is that hot?" He indicated to her coffee.

"Ah, yeah. Have it," she said handing him the cup without taking her eyes off the scene. "But they're not allowed in there! They could contaminate the evidence and all sorts. I mean, how come they...?"

"Don't ask me, there's no procedure anymore. It's a fucking disgrace." He left, shaking his head.

Gwen looked around and looked up at the parking garage next to them and ran inside, Sherlock following right behind her.

"What are you hoping to find out?" Sherlock yelled as they ascended the building.

"I dunno. Anything. I've never heard of Torchwood and if they're special ops, I want to know what they do," she shouted. They ran onto the highest level and peered down at the scene.

They couldn't really hear what the leader was saying, but at the least, he sounded like he was American. One of the members put on a metal glove, while another one was holding out his video camera, ready to record, while the last member was fiddling with a gadget. They were all arguing for a little bit before the American cut in. The woman wearing the glove gently cradled the head of the victim.

Sherlock and Gwen looked at each other, equally confused, before looking back down.

Suddenly, the rain stopped and the lights around the scene got brighter. If they were confused before, they were absolutely flabbergasted as the man came back to life. It seemed like the team members were trying to interrogate him, most likely on who killed him, but he was having none of that. He was panicky, looking around madly and not even regarding what one of the members was asking him. The American eventually knelt down and tried to reason with him, but then quick as he came back to life, he was gone.

The rain came back down and all the members looked very disappointed with themselves. The American talked to them for a bit before looking up at the two of them, shouting, "What do you think?"

They snapped back from the railing and ran away as fast as possible. They ran another block and just stood there, speechless.

"Do you have a place to stay, Sherlock?" Gwen asked after catching her breath.

"I was going to look for a hotel or flat to stay in for the meantime," he replied.

"You could stay with me, if you wanted to," she offered.

"Thanks, but I'll be alright."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll see you around," he said, turning to head back towards downtown.

"Sherlock wait! Can I see your mobile for second?" Sherlock handed it over and she fiddled around with it for a moment before handing it back to him. "If you need anything, you call me, yeah?"

"I'll be sure to do that. This is has been an interesting day, hasn't it?"

Gwen laughed nervously. "I guess you could say that. Have a good night, Sherlock."

They parted ways, both unable to stop thinking of how Torchwood achieved the impossible.

Sherlock sat in a cafe with a cup of coffee while he made several inquiries on lodging, but it seems Mycroft has his fingers in a lot of pies. He texted him an address to go to, only informing him to be nice. One of his colleagues has a relative that's a landlady who was willing to rent out a one bedroom to him for a reasonable price of zero pounds. Sherlock insisted on paying at least half of the rent, but apparently she regards anyone inside the British government highly.

Her name was Mrs. Kendrick and she reminded him a lot of Mrs. Hudson. She gave him a tour of the flat, giving the usual spiel on the logistics of the layout. It was a small flat, but it felt warm. The walls were mixture of gold, burgundy, and orange, with various knick knacks from the flea market adorning the mantle above the fireplace. The kitchen was to the right when they walked in, small but well enough in case Sherlock ever wanted company over. The living room was furnished with squashy upholstery couches and a worn coffee table.

The bathroom had both a shower and a bathtub that looked like it could fit Sherlock inside of it, while the sink was modest.

She showed him the bedroom, which had simply a bed, a wardrobe, and a nightstand. The window looked over the street below, reminding him of Baker Street. Yes, he could get used to this.

"It's a little old-fashioned, but I always believe that those new flats with the blocky furniture was too much," she chuckled.

"No, it's lovely," Sherlock replied, already feeling more at home.

"You just call me if you need anything, dear," Mrs. Kendrick said with a smile before leaving. Sherlock got ready for bed and flopped face down onto the bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

He woke up the next morning, feeling a little more refreshed. His mobile rang on his nightstand and he picked it up.

"Sherlock Holmes," he stated.

"Sherlock, Detective Inspector Bennett wants you to come in to help, well, you know, as a consult," Gwen replied, the sound of pen scratching on the paper in the background. "How soon can you come into the station?"

"I'll be in there as soon as I can."

"Great, see you soon." The line clicked.

He got dressed and assessed the flat, but mostly the kitchen. He opened the cabinets. If John knew for a second that he was very close to considering not buying anything at all, he would have had his head. After all, everything else was transport. He would at the least buy some pasties and maybe some coffee. He would like to think John would have been okay with that.

Gwen was passing around coffee to the detectives who took it gratefully. Sherlock stood in the back and listened intently while sipping his coffee.

"Sarah Pallister, 71, murdered in her front room. Rani Ghosh, 45, murdered in Robintree Alley. And now John Tucker, 19, murdered in Llangyfelach Lane. So far, there's absolutely nothing linking these tree victims, apart from the way they died. As far as we can tall, all with the same weapon. A blade approximately eight inches long, three inches deep," a detective reported.

Another detective chimed in. "Two women were stabbed in the front, but John Tucker was stabbed from behind. What does that tell us about the killer?"

"That he's a coward."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and coughed. Every head swiveled in his direction and he paused.

"And who might you be?" The detective in front asked.

Sherlock opened his mouth retort, but Gwen stepped in. "Ah detective, this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes. He's been sent here from the Yard."

There was a collective murmur from the crowd. "So, Mr. Holmes, what brings you to Cardiff?"

"I'm no longer of service to Scotland Yard due to...unfortunate circumstances, and my connection with the British government has led me to be reassigned here."

"So what it is your job exactly?" The detective looked really curious.

"I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world. I invented the job."

"What does that mean?"

Sherlock thought back to when John asked him the same question and changed his answer. "It's when the police are having a problem solving their cases and they consult me."

"Did the Yard consult your expertise?" One detective sniffed.

"If you asked them, I helped them with probably, oh, 30 to 40 cases that would have otherwise gone unsolved."

"Is that so?"

"You could call Detective Inspector Lestrade and ask him yourself."

His eyes widened for a moment and then returned to normal. "I think I'll take your word for it. Well, Mr. Holmes, what do you think of these murders?"

Sherlock stepped forward and took a look at the all the photos from the crime scenes. "The first two victims were both older women. If they were stabbed from the front, this suggests that the killer wasn't intimidated by being seen by the victim. Or maybe the killer wanted to see the victims suffer. Either way, they were confident that no one would tag them in it. Your latest victim was a young man. What seems to be more apparent is that if a younger person, male or female, was murdered, there would be more of an effort to search for the killer. Why must the good die young, people ask. The same could be said for him, being stabbed in the back. You don't have a lot to go on, but what can be concluded is at least the killer was female, although the motive is still unclear."

The detective looked impressed. "Very good, Mr. Holmes. I do believe that we'll be needing your help more on this case."

Sherlock smiled. He decided that the Welsh Police would be much easier to work with than the officers from the Yard.

Sherlock got acquainted with Cardiff over the next few days, mapping the local shops and such, changing his appearance and purchasing some new clothes. Mycroft had set him up with a separate bank account so the statement wouldn't go to 221B. The chances of any of Moriarty's men being in Cardiff couldn't have been too low, so taking precautions was necessary. He dyed his hair auburn and wore more casual clothing. It had been far too long since he had worn denim, but he settled on a pair dark wash jeans, topped with a graphic shirt, a hooded sweater, and a worn leather jacket. While he knew that his shoes didn't go that well with his outfit, he couldn't bear to get rid of them. He also kept his scarf because he couldn't bear to be without it. It reminded him of home, of everything that he was fond of.

He was walking down a block to get some take-in when he walked by a pizza shop and heard a familiar voice. He peered around the doorway.

"I don't suppose you've got a Torchwood?" She asked the boy across the counter.

"Oh, aye, we do them all the time. They're good customers," he replied.

"Wonderful. Can I buy a couple of large pepperoni pizzas? I'm a new worker so they're sending me to pick up the food," she laughed.

"Ah, I know how that is. I'll ring you up right here so you can go on your way. That'll be 20 quid," he stated as she brought out her wallet and handed over the cash. "Wait right here. It'll take about 30 minutes. Business is kinda slow today, so you'll be getting it a little faster than usual."

"I supposed it's my lucky day then."

"Didn't think you'd be that hungry," Sherlock said, coming through the doorway.

Gwen did a double-when she saw him. "Oh wow! What'd you go changing everything up for?"

"Security purposes. I can't have people recognizing me," he replied.

"Well you had me fooled for a second there," She frowned. "Shame. I'll miss that coat. It reminded me of those superheroes on the telly."

"You're intending to get into Torchwood by delivering pizza?" He arched an eyebrow at the simplicity of it, but impressed.

"It's innocent enough, yeah? A girl delivering pizza?"

"True enough. Mind if I come along?"

"I can get in easy enough, but what about you? It looks a little weird if two people are delivering pizza. I suppose you could say that you're shadowing me," she said.

"Here ya go miss," the boy behind the counter emerged with two boxes of pizza. "You have a good night!"

"Thanks, you too."

The two of them left the pizza shop and started the walk down to the bay. Gwen knew where to go, leading down a boardwalk to a door against the side of the wall.

"Where did you find this?" Sherlock asked.

"I ran into the American a couple of days ago when I was at the hospital. Work-related injury, no big deal. His name is Captain Jack Harkness. I had one of my colleagues look for records on him, but there's only one on file. He died during the Blitz though, which makes this especially odd," Gwen trailed off.

She knocked on the door and they entered the room. It looked more like a travel shop than the entrance to a special ops group. A man in a suit came out from the back and took note of Gwen and Sherlock.

"Oh, hiya. Sorry I'm late. Someone ordered pizza. And this man is just shadowing me," she indicated Sherlock with a tilt of her head.

The man nodded. "Who's it for?"

"I think it's a...Mr. Harkness."

Suddenly, the front door slammed shut and the wall behind the two of them opened. They stared at it and looked back at the man behind the counter who was waiting for them expectantly.

"Don't keep them waiting," he said with a smile.

They started going through the door before Gwen looked back at the man. The man tilted his head, telling her to go on. They went through the doorway and down into a hallway that looked more like a dungeon.

What exactly had they gotten themselves into?


	4. We Chased Our Pleasures Here

The moment that they got locked in the elevator, they knew that they were probably in way over their heads.

They exited the elevator and in front of them was a circular enormous doorway leading to what was presumably the headquarters. This facility got a kick out of locking them in: the door rolled shut and the gate in front of the doorway closed. They turned around and couldn't believe how large the hub really way.

The first thing that caught their eye was a hand in a jar filled with bubbling fluid. There was higher platform off to their left where one of the members, a Japanese woman, was busy on the computer. There was another member who donned a welding mask and suit, busy fusing together something. They looked up and were stunned to see that there were three tall towers, presumably to power the facility. The room was three stories tall. A tall figure started making its way down and Gwen recognized that it was Captain Jack Harkness.

She was worried that he was going to demand why she was there, but he just walked right past here into his office. Apparently, no one seemed to mind that these random two people were just standing around with dumbfounded looks on their faces.

They were approaching Jack's office when the woman at the computer started cackling. The man at the computer next to her swiveled around in his chair and started laughing.

"I can't do it, I'm sorry! I'm rubbish. I give up!" He threw his hands up in defeat.

"He set me off," she accused, pointing at him and laughing.

"Well, that last no' point two seconds," the woman in the welding outfit hollered from across the room.

"Hmm. She's actually carrying pizza and he's standing there waiting for something to happen," the man said, gesturing to Sherlock.

Jack started coming out of his office. "Come on! She was gonna say, "Here's your pizza," and I was going to say, "How much?" and she said, "Oh, whatever, twenty quid," and I say, "Oh, I don't have any money." He leaned against the doorframe and stared hard at both of them.

"I was working on a punchline. I'd have got there. But it would've been good!"

"There's your pizza. I'd better go," Gwen stated.

"We've gone past that stage," he replied seriously.

"You two must've been freezing out there. How long were you walking around? Three hours?" The welding woman approached them, a mixture of being impressed and concern on her face.

"You could see us?" Gwen was surprised.

The woman nodded. Sherlock smirked; it was like Mycroft was watching him all over again.

"And before we go any further, who the hell orders pizza under the name of Torchwood?" Jack looked a little peeved.

"Uh, yeah. That would be me. I'm sorry. I'm a twat," the guy responded sheepishly.

"That man, at the hospital, that porter, what happened to him? That was real, wasn't it? He was attacked."

"He's dead," Jack declared.

"But there's no-one gone missing."

"We took the body, retrospectively changed the work rota, planted a false witness who saw him leaving the hospital, giving him an alibi for the next 48 hours, so when his body's pulled out of the docks next Tuesday night, he's only been missing for three days," the Japanese woman explain nonchalantly.

"Time is linear. It would be impossible to change something that happened in the past," Sherlock stated. When the Chief Constable talked him dealing with the supernatural, he didn't think that it would involve bending the limits of science.

She shrugged. "That's my job."

"And that other man, John Tucker? Last night in the alleyway, we saw you," Gwen protested.

"And what did you see?" Jack asked.

"You revived him."

"No, what did you see?"

"You brought him back to life."

"Yeah," Jack nodded.

"Who are you?"

"Torchwood."

"And what's Torchwood?" Sherlock asked.

"This is Torchwood. All around you," Jack said, gesturing to everything.

"And what happens to us?" Gwen asked uncertainly.

"Oooo," Jack mocked

"I'm police. Constable Gwen Cooper, and this is Sherlock Holmes. You can't do anything."

"Right then, PC Cooper and Sherlock...d'you want to come and see?" Jack teased.

"See what?" Sherlock asked.

"You saw the murder. Come and see the murderer," he replied.

Sherlock and Gwen were going through some serious information overload. Sherlock had had his doubts about things that were extraterrestrial, but now that he was dealing with them first hand...well, he didn't know what to think. The pterodactyl was shocking, but the murderer was unspeakable. It was called a Weevil. Gwen updated him on what happened; she followed Jack and ran into a Weevil that killed a porter by tearing out his throat.

Eventually, they were introduced to the members of Torchwood. The other male member was named Owen Harper, although he insisted on being addressed as Dr. Owen Harper. The Japanese woman was named Toshiko Sato and deemed the computer genius. The welding woman was named Suzie Costello and was assigned as second-in-command. The man that was behind the counter reappeared. His name was Ianto Jones and he had a flirtatious moment with Jack.

Eventually, they left the hub on a lift that put them right near the Millenium Center. They were curious as to why people seemingly couldn't notice that three people just rose out of the ground.

"It's called a perception filter. He can sort of see us, but we don't quite

register. Just like something in the corner of your eye. It only works on this exact spot," Jack explained. He demonstrated how it worked and managed to scare two people by stepping off the platform.

They all went to a local bar afterwards to talk in a more relaxed setting, discussing the various events that happened around Christmas that threatened to destroy London. They both tried to reason with him that it had to involve some sort of hallucinogenic because there was no other way to explain spaceships and aliens. Jack also explained the purpose of Torchwood, which is to catch any aliens that run amok in the city.

"Gwen's right. When I was solving a case over at Baskerville, we were all drugged by an aerosol hallucinogenic that tricked us all into thinking that there was a giant glowing hound. In reality, it was just an ordinary dog," Sherlock recalled.

"Mmmm, but you weren't over a rift," Jack retorted.

"A what?" Sherlock and Gwen asked.

"There's a rift in space and time running right through the city. The Weevils didn't come in a spaceship. They kind of just - slipped through. All sorts of things get washed up here. Creatures, time-shifts, space junk, debris, flotsam and jetsam," Jack explained.

They sat there speechless.

"I'll let that sink in. I know, I know. It's culture shock."

Gwen downed her drink, as did Sherlock.

Jack eventually revealed later that the whole reason they were at the crime scene in the first place was to test the glove. It only worked with fresh dead bodies. Gwen offered Torchwood a place to work in the force to help catch the criminals.

"If you remember," Jack said wistfully.

"What do you mean?" Gwen asked.

"How are your drinks?"

They both looked down at their glasses.

"Oh, stupid, stupid. It's obvious," Sherlock huffed.

"What's obvious?" Gwen asked nervously.

"He drugged us," he said with an eyeroll. He supposed this was payback for Baskerville. John would've laughed before going into his doctor mode.

"Don't be so dramatic. It's an amnesia pill. My own recipe, with a touch of denial and a dash of retcon. Wake up tomorrow morning, you'll have forgotten everything about Torchwood. Worse still, you'll have forgotten me," Jack shrugged, "which is kind of tragic."

They both ran out of the bar, with Jack not far behind.

"Don't think you can fight it by staying awake. I mixed in a little bit of sedative too," he warned.

"I'll tell someone!" Gwen argued. She was already feeling the effects.

"Do you want to do that? Do you really want us to come and find them too?" Jack challenged.

"You bastard!"

"Language! Nice knowing you, Gwen Cooper. Sherlock," Jack left with a wink.

Gwen and Sherlock ran to their flats to record any information they could before they lost consciousness.

Sherlock burst into his flat, much to the alarm of Mrs. Kendrick, who was downstairs in her room.

"Sherlock! Are you all right, dear?" She sounded frantic.

"I'm fine," he slurred.

Sherlock collapsed onto his bed and went right into his mind palace. Knowing the extent of Torchwood's power, they probably would've had control over anything involving technology. He deposited everything he could about Torchwood in there before sleep overtook him.

He woke up in a daze the next morning, confused at first as to why the room was spinning and he felt like he got hit by a bus. As soon as he sat up, he remembered why.

Torchwood.

He grabbed his mobile and texted Gwen.

"Do you remember Torchwood? -SH"

"Sorry, what's Torchwood?"

"Never mind."

He threw his phone down and ran his fingers through his hair. Today was probably a day to take it easy.

Detective Inspector Bennett called him the next day, asking him to come in and provide more input on the triple homicide. When he came in and took a look at the weapon, everything clicked into place.

He remembered seeing the weapon on the wall in Torchwood near Suzie's workstation. He remembered Suzie saying at the beginning that she needs to make that connection. That it needs to grant her access. How she held the head of the corpse from behind, like how she stabbed her victims.

It was Suzie. Suzie was the murderer.

Gwen walked in and one of the detectives updated her on the weapon that could have been used. One look at her and it was clear that she genuinely had no idea what he was going on about. Sherlock was about to tell her his theory, but Gwen was already out the door.

He was fast asleep when his mobile buzzed on his nightstand. He picked it up and opened his eyes blearily.

"I think I remember." His eyes snapped open and he texted her back immediately.

"So do I."

"I'm going to the Millenium Center. It's a good place to start."

"I'll meet you there."

What was supposed to be just a consolidation of the memories turned into a showdown with a hysterical Suzie who held them at gunpoint.

"You're the only one who can make the link. Well, the only one in public. Torchwood's gonna find out by morning, but I'll be gone. I don't know where. Far away. What am I gonna do? I loved this job. I really loved it. And now I've got to run. Oh, Christ. How can you do any other job after this one? Jim got me this job-

"Suzie- wait. Who is Jim?"

She hiccupped. "Jim Moriarty. He got me the job. He paid me to for each person that I killed. I need the money so badly to pay off my uni loans. I can't keep living on beans and rice. I just, I needed something to make sure that I'll be okay."

Sherlock's mind started racing. Mycroft honored his request, as did all of those that he got into contact with. This was a very delicate situation. He had to tread **very** lightly. "Suzie, we can talk about this. You don't have to do this. Just put the gun down. We can. Just. Talk," he said gently.

Unfortunately, Gwen was still confused, being only able to remember bits and pieces. As Suzie rambled on about how this job has gotten inside her head and how she needed the bodies to make the glove stronger and the money, Jack silently entered the scene. She shot him in the forehead immediately. To everyone's shock, Jack came back to life.

Suzie, unable to deal with the possibility of the consequences, shot herself. Sherlock felt like he got punched in the lungs because this was almost exactly like that day on the rooftop.

Gwen collapsed to the floor, sobbing.

"I remember."

There was nothing that Sherlock could except put an arm around her and console her.


	5. I'll Come Back When You Call Me

**Chapter 5: The Call**

It was a new day. But for Sherlock and Gwen, it felt like a new life.

The three of them were standing on a rooftop, watching the city come to life. Jack was the first to speak.

"You didn't tell them either. Followed my lead. Keep doing that, and you might just get through this."

Gwen sighed and looked at him, incredulous. "But she killed you."

"I can't die," he stated.

"Why? A shot fired at that close range and at your head, that should've been instant and…" Sherlock trailed off. He had no way to explain this even to himself, so he let Jack do the talking. He suspected that he would be doing this a lot; stepping aside and letting these new people introduce him to this new world. He wasn't sure that he was okay with this new development.

"Something happened to me a while back. Long story and far away. But I was killed, and then I was brought back to life, and ever since then…I can't die," Jack confessed.

"But how?" Gwen was desperate.

Jack shrugged. "I don't know. One day, I'll find a Doctor, the right sort of Doctor, and then maybe he can explain it. But until then…" Jack chuckled inwardly. He missed that mad man.

"Absolutely nothing kills you?" Sherlock was curious to test the limits of Jack's supposed immortality.

"Well, it kind of freaks people out, so…best if you don't say anything."

"It doesn't matter anyway. You'll only wipe our memories again," Gwen sighed. That was definitely an unpleasant experience and she had no desire to go through that again.

"Why would I do that?"

They both looked at him.

"Torchwood's got a vacancy. Job going spare. Do you want it?"

"But…what do you need me for?" Gwen asked.

"Cause maybe you were right. We could do more to help. What do you think? Do you  
want to join up?"

She looked at him and then back out at the city. "Yeah. I do. Yes."

Jack wasn't even looking at Sherlock, but he could sense the questions that were whirling around in Sherlock's head.

"Sherlock, I've heard about you from places you could never imagine. You've got a real gift there. I think Owen could use your help with the bodies. He's a great doctor, but there's nothing wrong with another set of eyes and another M.O. So, are you in?"

"What places?"

Jack chuckled and smirked at him. "Oh, you'll learn in time. You don't have to tell your brother; we'll take care of that. I'm sure he'll appreciate your new line of work."

"How do you know about Mycroft?" Sherlock ready to text him.

Jack said nothing and inhaled in the fresh morning air.

* * *

~Present Day~

Lately, there had been dead bodies found in broad daylight: graveyards, in front of buildings all over the city, in parks.

The dead bodies were nothing out of the ordinary.

What was weird though was the way that they died: they all had identical strangulation marks on their necks. Based on the degree of bruising, the killer has an extremely firm grip on them, probably killing them almost instantly. There was also no connection between the victims, adding to the mystery.

Sherlock and Owen had become friends of sorts, mainly with the fascination with dead bodies and the cause of death. Owen had introduced him to the more supernatural side of living over a rift in time and space, while Sherlock taught him some of his methods of observation. At the moment, they were both at an impasse.

Sherlock was constantly going back and forth between the South Wales Police and Torchwood, consulting both sides and getting the same results. When talking about this with Owen, he voiced his frustration pretty well.

"How the fuck do you explain this Sherlock? We have a dead man laying here who should be in his 80's but according his record," Owen shoved the clipboard into Sherlock's chest, "he's supposed to be 20!" Owen paced around the slab, running his hands through his hair out of frustration.

Sherlock took another look at the patient's records and frowned. Owen was right about everything. So how could this keep happening?

"Get Jack in here. I think he would know more about this than we could," Sherlock demanded.

"I'm on it." Owen left the morgue, returning later with Jack in tow.

"What do we got, you two?"

"Victim was in his mid-20s, attended Oxford based on the contents of his wallet. According to the report, campus security found him in the middle of the quad around 3am. There was no evidence at the scene, nor were there any traces of DNA on the victim's neck," Sherlock stated.

"Toxicology report came back negative, so that rules out anything like date rape, or overdose," Owen added.

"So, what do you think we're dealing with here?" Jack circled the body, grimacing at the bruising at the neck.

Sherlock and Owen looked at each other. Nothing came to mind.

"Do you want to know what I think?" They nodded.

"I think we're dealing with something that's beyond even us. The Rift has been really active lately and I think that might have something to do with it. I think we need a different type of Doctor for something like this."

"What type of doctor are you talking about?"

"You'll find out later," he replied and walked out of the morgue.

"Does he do that a lot?" Sherlock asked, resuming looking over the paperwork for anything he might have missed.

"There's a lot of things that we don't know about him," Owen murmured while continuing to examine the body.

* * *

Jack walked back into his office and sank down into the chair. He rubbed his eyes blearily, wishing that he didn't have to deal with so many deaths that weren't being solved. Glancing over at the twitching hand bubbling in the jar, he sucked in a breath and picked up his phone and dialed a number he thought he would never dial again.

The voices on the other end weren't the ones that he expected.

"People can still call me on this blasted phone?" The first voice rang.

"I don't think I've ever heard your phone ring!" an unfamiliar Scottish voice exclaimed.

"I used it a long time ago to call some other friends of mine…hello, hello! Who's this?" The voice sounded friendly enough.

"…Doctor?"

There was silence before he replied. "Jack?"

"I see you've regenerated again. I bet you're still the looker," he teased.

"And you're still the same old Captain Jack Harkness!" The Doctor laughed. "Where are you in your timeline now?" Jack could hear the cranking and punching of buttons.

"It's 2012. What about you?"

"It's 2010. Just got done dealing with some nasty Weeping Angels and I'm about to drop off my friend Amy at home. What can I do for you?"

Jack sighed. "I need your help over here. There have been just a string of murders in Cardiff and we have no idea what's been causing them."

"How has the Rift been?"

"It's been really active lately. Tosh has been having trouble keeping track of where the activity has been spreading. Do you think you could stop by?"

He heard some muffled conversation before the Doctor came back on the phone. "I'll drop her off," Amy started objecting before he cut her off, "and then I'll pop by. Are you still in the same underground hub?"

"The very same one. Why don't you bring your friend along?"

"Oi, I don't need any more of my friends meeting you!"

"What's wrong with me?" Jack mocked sounded offended.

"I swear every single one of them falls in love with you right when you introduce yourself," he complained, but Jack could hear the smile in the exasperation.

"Doctor, you have to think about where I'm originally from. 51st century."

"I know, I know. Well then, I'll see you soon. Won't be long."

"I'll see you soon Doctor."

The line clicked and Jack hung up. He reclined in his chair, feeling a little more at peace. The Doctor would know what to do about this.


	6. We Can Fake It For The Airwaves

He never came.

In fact, the Doctor had forgotten about going to visit Jack after what transpired in Amy's bedroom that night because more pressing matters, like cracks and potential explosions in the universe, were more important than visiting an old friend.

And so the murder spree continued. But Jack was patient. He had waited almost 200 years and died almost 1,400 times to see the Doctor again. The problem was that he wasn't sure how long he could wait while people were dying every day.

He could hold out a little longer. He had to.

* * *

**2012**

The Doctor dropped off Amy and Rory at home so that they could have a normal life for once. Even though he loved them and wanted them to travel with him forever, he could tell that they wanted to build a life together. Unfortunately for everyone, they couldn't bear to be apart from one another. It took some convincing on the part of the Ponds, but the Doctor stayed.

It took a while for the Doctor to get settled down. After all, he's never used to being in one place where time moves slowly in the correct order. But for his friends, he would do anything. Eventually, he got his job in the toy shop again because he couldn't stand being in the house all day. To his surprise, Craig stopped in one day and he almost couldn't believe that he was there. Alfie was with him, and he had barely begun learning to walk. Although he referred to the Doctor as Also Not Mum, it was nice to hear that he was still calling Craig "Dad" instead of Not Mum.

"I thought you were dead," Craig whispered while nestling Alfie in one arm.

"Ah, well. Things change," the Doctor replied, shrugging.

"I would say so! Well that's great!"

The Doctor and Craig chatted for a while until Alfie started getting fussy. They hugged and Craig departed, encouraging the Doctor to visit while he was still here.

The Doctor returned home from work later that evening to hearing the TARDIS monitor acting up. He ran into the backyard and climbed inside, taking a look at it. It never picked up Rift activity before, so for it to do so meant that there must have been a huge surge of energy. Based on the spread, it looked like it spread from Cardiff into London. He stared at the monitor, rolling through his mental index of what could possibly cause such a spread. Unable to think of anything, he went back into the house.

Amy and Rory were sitting on the couch and watching the news. They both looked tired from work, but content. The Doctor plopped down between the two of them and kissed them both on the forehead, gathering them in his arms.

"Hello to you too, Doctor," Amy mumbled, resting her head on his shoulder.

"And how are the Ponds?"

"Exhausted. Rough day at work. Need food." Rory's voice was muffled as he hugged a pillow.

"How about I whip us up some supper, yeah?" The Doctor sprung up from the couch.

"Doctor, your idea of supper is fish fingers and custard," Amy wrinkled her nose in disgust and laid her head down in Rory's lap, occupying most of the couch. Rory ran his fingers absent-mindedly through her hair. He took out his wallet from his backpack that was resting on the floor against the couch and tossed it to the Doctor.

"There's a Chinese restaurant that does takeaway down at the corner. Just order some pot stickers, orange chicken, and fried rice. Actually," he pulled out his mobile and dialed a number, "just go and pick it up."

"Alright, won't be long!" He was about to leave when something on the telly caught his attention.

"One more victim in this vicious murder streak was found in front of Victoria Memorial early yesterday morning. No word yet on who has been behind these attacks. Police have been having a difficult time tracking the perpetrator down due to the lack of evidence. Scotland Yard is in the works of instituting curfew hours in order to protect its citizens. While a curfew for the city of London is not unheard of, the implementation of such an action is a testament to the threat of this force. We will be sure to keep you updated on the latest reports," the newscaster reported.

"This is an awful mess," Rory said. "I still can't believe they haven't caught this killer yet. This has been going on for two years and no new evidence has been found. It's bad enough it started in Cardiff and has now spread to London."

Something clicked in the Doctor's brain and he realized his awful mistake. Amy and Rory looked alarmed as he sprinted over furniture, nearly managing not to knock over anything as he bounded back to the TARDIS. They ran after him inside the console room.

"Doctor?! What's wrong?" Amy shouted.

"I've made a big mistake. Something very not good has happened and I need to go fix it," he wailed while flicking on all the switches.

"Can you please tell us what's going on, at least?" Rory sounded exasperated because he hated it when the Doctor didn't tell them what was going on. He was still worried though; he's never seen him this frantic over something before.

"Amy, do you remember when I was on the phone with my old friend that night after we met River?"

"Er, vaguely, yeah. What does that have to do anything?" She leaned against the console, only moving the Doctor was very close to shoving her out of the way.

"That has everything to do with this," he elaborated.

"Wait what? So you know who's behind these attacks?" Rory remarked.

"No, but I know someone who has known about these attacks since the beginning. I need to go visit him. You two stay here," he ordered.

The Ponds looked at each other. They sensed that the Doctor wanted to leave them behind for their own good, but they hated the thought of him being alone again. After seeing how destructive he had become in the town of Mercy in the time that they were apart, they knew that they needed to stay with him.

"We're not leaving you again. I meant what I said, Doctor. This is what happens when you travel alone for too long, you become destructive. A danger to yourself and everyone around you," Amy stated.

He stammered and she put one finger up to silence him. "No buts. End of discussion."

He looked over to Rory to see any sign of protest from him, but there was none. Rory looked more like a concerned father seeing his son going off to Uni for the first time. The Doctor forgot sometimes that Rory and Amy were his parents-in-law. Timey wimey indeed. "She's right, Doctor."

The Doctor sighed and resumed preparing the TARDIS for takeoff. There was no sound except _VWORP VWORP VWORP. _Finally, he turned around and looked at them seriously. "I can't be responsible for what happens to you two. You know that. I have no idea what we're dealing with here, so I'm not sure that I'll be able to protect you from whatever it may be," he reminded them.

"We've traveled with you long to know that. Plus, the fact that this thing has you on your toes has given us enough reason to come along, yeah?" Amy smiled. The Doctor has been surprised and proud at how much she's grown up. To him, she would always be little Amelia Pond, the name that came from a fairytale. The girl who waited. But she was so much more than that. She was fierce adventuress, ready to take on the universe with her boys at her side.

Rory had changed too. No longer the bumbling nurse boy, he was a true Roman soldier at heart and a leader in whatever universe that they would end up in.

The Doctor led the three of them out and came face to face with Jack.

* * *

"Sorry, it took so long, Jack. Had to trigger a second Big Bang to recreate the universe, you know how those things go," he said while hugging him.

Jack laughed and hugged him too. "It's good to see you, Doctor." He looked up at the Doctor's new friends and broke away.

"Hi, Captain Jack Harkness," he said with a grin on his face. He offered his hand to both of them and shook theirs.

"Oh, don't even start," the Doctor warned.

Amy and Rory looked very pleased to see a new face regardless, and blushed without even thinking about it.

"Now look what you've done. I can't have you flirting with my companions! You introducing yourself is practically your pick-up line," he said, exasperated.

"51st century."

"That doesn-"

"JACK! WE'VE GOT ANOTHER ONE!" The trio looked at him.

"You came just in time."

Jack let them soak in the hub while introducing them to the rest of the team on their way down to the morgue. When they got there, Sherlock and Owen doing their preliminary assessments.

"Anything new?" Jack asked.

"No, nothin' really. No strangulation this time around, but still, her age doesn't match up with her date of birth. Also, she was found in her home, or I guess what used to be her home. We looked up her address and it sits on this old building that was torn down in the 70s," Owen reported while examining her limbs, bending them to determine rigor mortis.

"Meet Dr. Owen Harper and Sherlock Holmes. Owen is our medical examiner and Sherlock is our consulting detective and works with Gwen as the police liaison," Jack explained.

"Hello, I'm the Doctor and this is Amy and Rory Pond," The Doctor introduced.

"Though technically we should be the Williams, not the Ponds," Rory added.

"No, you're the Ponds. That's the way it works out," the Doctor said pointedly.

"I—yeah I suppose that's the way that things work," Rory sighed. He decided to stop arguing with the Doctor on these sorts of things a while ago.

"Consulting detective? What does that even mean?" Amy asked.

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me. Although the South Wales Police are a lot more gracious here than the ones at the Yard," Sherlock replied, flipping through some paperwork.

"Wait, you used to work in Scotland Yard? Why are you here in Cardiff?"

Sherlock looked up at them and simply stated, "Plans have changed."

"Wait. That name sounds familiar," Rory peered at Sherlock and then it hit him. He remembered reading about it on the Internet a while back.

"You're Sherlock Holmes! You're the detective that committed suicide!"

"I'm surprised that you haven't heard about me," Sherlock said, one eyebrow raised.

"Well, aren't you modest?" Amy scoffed.

"I'm really not," he replied with a smirk. Owen snorted.

"Well, we haven't exactly been able to watch the news. We've been doing a lot of…traveling," Rory replied.

"What sort of travels could take you far enough that away that you missed one of the biggest cases of the century?" Sherlock asked.

"It's kind of hard to explain. You might be surprised," Amy piped in.

"Surprise me," Sherlock challenged.

"I'm a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey. I'm the last of my species and that blue box over there is my TARDIS. Time And Relative Dimension And Space. It's a time machine that can go anywhere and everywhere. Amy and Rory travel with me," the Doctor informed.

Sherlock just blinked, unable to come up with a response.

"That still doesn't explain why you're not dead," Rory insisted, coming back to the original point of the conversation.

"It's because I faked it! I needed to die in order to protect my friends."

"You jumped off of Bart's though! That's at least 7 stories tall!" Rory was shocked.

"That's because I had the help of my homeless network in order to make it look like I was dead," Sherlock started to explain.

"But what was going to happen if you didn't jump? I remember reading about how you hired Jim Moriarty to be your villain or something like that in order to make yourself famous," Amy said.

"He didn't. He planted that idea into everyone's head so that they would turn against me, including John's," Sherlock went on. "Eventually, I got arrested and had to run from the police. Apparently Moriarty also hired international wanted criminals to live around my flat in order to get to me first."

"I remembered hearing something about some sort of code that allowed Moriarty to break into the Tower of London, the London bank, and the prison, all at the same time?"

"There was no code," Sherlock admitted. "He had insiders who did all the work so that to everyone else, it just looked like it took him the push of a button to break into highest security places in the city."

"But why would he do that? He didn't take anything, right?"

"Correct. He's like me. He hates being bored all the time," Sherlock mused.

"Let me get this straight. He broke into the highest security places in London to not take anything because he was _bored?_" Rory couldn't believe what he was hearing. When he heard it on the news when it was first reported, it sounded like Sherlock was a nutter of a bloke. But now that he was hearing it for himself, his opinion had completely changed.

"He's like me. We hate being bored," Sherlock said.

"So what? You'd break into those places too?" Amy asked.

"Nah, he'd just shoot at the wall," Owen replied while typing out his findings.

"Yeah. When we found that out, we just let him have full-access to the shooting range to distract him from the boredom," Jack laughed.

"But the dead bodies keep him really entertained," Owen said, chuckling.

"Sorry, who's John?" the Doctor asked.

"John Watson. My best friend," Sherlock stated, suddenly lost in thought.

Rory gulped. He knew exactly who he was talking about because they worked in the same hospital. Granted Rory was working in the coma ward, he had worked with Dr. Watson sometimes when he was brought in patients who had fallen into a coma while being taken care of in the trauma ward. He hadn't spoken to him outside of the context of work, but he had heard wonderful things about him before he met him. How Dr. Watson has the patience of a god and how beneath his simple demeanor was a soldier. Because that's what he was. Dr. Watson was versed in multiple disciplines, making him an important member of the hospital. He had heard that Dr. Watson had chosen the trauma ward because he missed the adrenaline of the battlefield. When Rory met Dr. Watson for the first time, everything that he heard was true.

"Rory, something wrong?" Sherlock paused from examining the body to look up at him.

"No, no. It's nothing. I just had some bad eggs this morning," Rory lied. He hated himself now knowing that Sherlock was alive when Dr. Watson was living every day in the hospital as if he was a zombie.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Rory, surveying him. Rory squirmed under his gaze, but he held his ground and maintained a serene composure. Sherlock, deciding that nothing was wrong, resumed working on examining the body.

"Well, Doctor? What do you think we're looking at here?" Jack asked, gesturing to the body.

The Doctor approached the body and walked around it, taking a good long look at it. When it was decided that he couldn't find anything, he took out his Sonic Screwdriver and scanned the body.

"What's that?" Sherlock asked.

"My Sonic Screwdriver," the Doctor said. "It can pretty much do anything," he bragged.

"Yeah, except wood," Jack refuted.

"I'm still working on that!" the Doctor frowned. He flicked his screwdriver open to examine it and he nearly dropped it, his eyes wide.

"Jack, how much Rift activity did you say there was?" The Doctor asked, slowly.

"A lot. It's been even more active now than when I called you," Jack replied.

"Because I'm getting readings that detecting a lot of Rift energy, but no time energy, off of this woman," he elaborated.

"What does time energy have to do with things?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, when someone is living in their own time stream, then there's a normal level of time energy that comes off of them," the Doctor started to explain. "But if, for example, something were to send them back in time, making them live their lives out in another era, then their time energy levels would be completely depleted," he said solemnly.

"Wait, Doctor, why do I have a feeling like I know where you're going with this?" Amy spoke, filling with dread.

"Because Amy, you've dealt with these creatures before," he stated. He turned to Jack and the look on his face was very serious and nothing like he had seen before. "Jack, you've got a horde of Weeping Angels on hand."

* * *

The tension in the room had suddenly heightened tenfold in the morgue, despite only a few people knowing about the Weeping Angels.

"What exactly are Weeping Angels?" Sherlock asked.

"The Lonely Assassins, we used to call them. They're the only psychopaths that kill you nicely. They send you back in time with one touch and let you die in another time, feeding off the time energy difference. But that's when they're nice. But if they're desperate for time energy to feed on, then they kill their victims by snapping their necks. They're called Weeping Angels because they're quantum-locked, turning into the stone in the presence of any living thing. That's why they can't look at each other, because they'll become permanently locked themselves. When you look away, they can move incredibly fast. Faster than you can believe. So know this, **everyone.** When you see a Weeping Angel, don't blink and don't look into its eyes. Because anything that holds the image of an Angel becomes an Angel itself. Anything that the Weeping Angel touches, like another statue, can also become a Weeping Angel," the Doctor described.

"Why are they called Weeping Angels?" Rory asked. This explained why Amy was so nervous around statues all the time

"Because when they're quantum-locked, they can't look at each other. Otherwise they'd be trapped that way forever," the Doctor explain, running his hands through his hair out of frustration. "Dammit. I thought that we were done with these creatures. But I guess not."

"Doctor, so are you saying that there are Weeping Angels all over the city, threatening to send people back in time or killing them by snapping their necks?" Amy's anxiety had come back. Dealing with the Weeping Angels again was going to be an absolute nightmare. Literally.

"It would appear so. But why would they be killing people by both snapping their necks and sending them back in time? It doesn't make any sense!" The Doctor shouted, pacing back and forth. Everyone watched him, hanging onto his every word.

"Unless…" He stopped pacing to stare at the wall, deep in thought. "No. It can't be."

"Doctor, what is it? What's wrong?" Jack was starting to get worried. This was his Doctor, but he had aged so much and had somehow become more ridden with nervous energy. He supposed that having to deal with being alone for so long would do things to him.

"I need to go get someone. Amy, Rory, you stay here and that's an order!" He barked, running back up the stairs to the TARDIS.

"Oi! Mind telling us what's going on?" Owen wanted to be in on the information.

"I need to go pick up my wife. I think I know where these angels are coming from," the Doctor shouted while preparing the TARDIS for take-off once again.

"Wait, why are you getting River?" Amy asked. While it was nice that she would be able to see her daughter again, because who knows what she's gotten herself into, she wasn't too keen on the circumstances under which they were meeting.

"Because if the Byzantium is still there, then we've got an army of Weeping Angels to deal with here," the Doctor stated.

"Wait, I thought that those Weeping Angels were all eliminated!" She shouted.

"In one universe yes. But if we think critically, in the theory of parallel universes, there could be thousands of Byzantiums out there or even just Weeping Angels ready to break into our world," the Doctor replied.

At this point, Sherlock had abandoned the body and came aboard the TARDIS, overwhelmed with what he saw. He stumbled back out, circling it multiple times.

"It's—"

"Bigger on the inside," Jack added, leaning against the outside of it.

"But ho—"

"Don't even ask. Just accept it. The Doctor said it had something having to do with Gallifreyan technology, whatever that means," he chuckled.

Sherlock was speechless for a minute, but he stepped back in cautiously, listening in. He came in at the point when the Doctor was explaining the theory of multiple universes existing all at once.

"You know what I think? I think that the Rift is leaking in Weeping Angels from the all these parallel universes. And also, I think that that explains why these murders have been happening. Because the Weeping Angels from other universes are versed differently in the way that they attack," the Doctor growled.

"Even though they're all a part of the same race?" Sherlock asked. The three of them turned around, startled to see him there.

"It would seem so, Sherlock. Now, all three of you need to leave. I'll be back soon," he promised, practically pushing them out.

Just like that, the TARDIS was gone.

* * *

River was grading papers in her office when she heard the familiar _VWORP VWORP VWORP. _Rolling her eyes, she turned around her chair and came face to face with her husband.

"Hi honey, sorry I'm late. Traffic was hell," he teased.

"Hello, Sweetie," she said with a slow smile.


	7. It's Always Darkest Before The Dawn

"So Doctor, why did you have come get me on this day? I'm supposed to be grading my students' papers, you know. Final exams and all," she explained as he brought them back to Torchwood.

"Well dear, we've got a crisis on our hands. By the way, where are we in our timelines?" He pulled out his journal and she pulled out hers. After examining their journals, they looked at each other surprised.

"At least we're together at this one point in time," he said, dumbfounded.

"How is it that your discovery of the Rift leaking in Weeping Angels from different universes coincides with my lecture of students learning about significant events that are based on the Cardiff rift?" She was surprised.

"Wibbly wobbly—"

"Timey wimey. Yes dear, you've said that all too well. In that case, let's see what we've got on our hands in good old Cardiff."

* * *

The Torchwood team and the Ponds were busy tucking into some takeaway when they heard the TARDIS return. Amy and Rory were the first to jump up, eager to see their daughter.

"Hello mummy dearest. And hello dad," she greeted before hugging them both.

"How have you been River? Or what title am I supposed to address you by now?" Amy asked, smiling.

"It's Professor Song now. I'm teaching archaeology now," River declared proudly.

"Mmm I remember when we first met. You were so fascinated with everything in that bloody spaceship that nearly turned me into a Weeping Angel," Amy said, half laughing and half not.

"But the Doctor and I saved you anyway because we knew what we were dealing with," River retorted.

"I know, I know. It's good to see you again. I've missed you," Amy said, hugging her daughter again.

"And who might these lovely people be?" River asked, eyeing everyone.

"Hi, Captain Jack Harkness," Jack said, introducing himself with a grin and a handshake.

"Oi, stop that," the Doctor groaned. "This happens to be my wife."

"Oh I know, Doctor. She picked quite the looker for a husband, didn't she?" Jack winked at both of them. The Doctor rolled his eyes, but grinned anyway because Jack's good-natured demeanor was just infectious.

"River, meet Owen, our medical officer, Gwen and Sherlock, our police liaisons,"

"Consulting detective," Sherlock interjected.

"My mistake, Sherlock's the consulting detective. Tosh, our computer specialist, and Ianto. He gets the coffee, but does well anyway because he looks great in a suit. He's also our administrator, and provides general support."

"Sir—" Ianto sighed, blushing anyway.

"Nice to meet you all. Well, why don't we all just tuck in and worry about the Weeping Angels later," River suggested as they all sat down around the big table.

"Sorry love, but we can't stop even for a moment to tuck in. But we can always to both. By the way, Ianto, did you get what I asked?" The Doctor asked hopefully.

"Uh yeah, I got you your fish fingers and custard," he handed over the container, wrinkling his nose.

"Doctor, how come you eat that so much? That's pretty much all you'll ever eat anyway?" Rory asked. He was really wondering why he was so obsessed with them.

"Well, you should know Rory, that when I first became this man," he gestured to himself, "Amelia started feeding me whatever she could, hoping that I would at least like something. Turns out I hated everything she set down in front of me—"

"Except for the fish fingers and custard," Amy added, smiling at the memory. He was such a mad man back then, and he's still that now. He'll always be her Raggedy Man.

"Except for fish fingers and custard. And Jelly Babies. Can't get enough of those though. Shame that they don't sell those anymore. I would love to get my hands on some of those Jelly Babies," the Doctor said with a frown.

"I suppose I could go out and get some later, if you wanted to," Ianto proposed.

"Nah, it's okay. But I might take you up on that later on," the Doctor replied.

"Anyway, Jack, fill me on what's been going on," River started, grabbing a takeaway container and opening it up, digging into a potsticker.

"Well, River, this all started a couple of months ago when there were random dead bodies that were found all over Cardiff. Nothing links them except the way that they died, which was by strangulation. No DNA on any of the bodies, so there was no way to pin down the killer," Jack explained while eating some chow mein. "Until now when the Doctor took some of the readings off of the latest victims. Apparently, they were all attacked by Weeping Angels. Most of them were strangled, but the latest one was sent back in time to live out her life until the present."

"What we're trying to figure out is why these particular Weeping Angels that are coming through the Rift are so much more vindictive than the previous ones that we've dealt with before. My theory is that they're coming from parallel universes on the other side of the Rift, like a new breed of Weeping Angels, of sorts," the Doctor said, munching on a fish finger.

"Is there any way close up the Rift, like you did with the cracks in the universe?" Amy asked, hopeful.

"Unfortunately, Amy, this is one thing that you can't just patch up," Jack went on.

"Actually, that's not true. Remember when the Abbadon broke through and it sucked up your life energy? The Rift was sealed when you killed it," Gwen reminded him.

"Or that time that we sent Tommy through to the other side to seal it off'?" Tosh asked quietly.

"Alright," Jack put his hands up. "I get it. But the point is that this Rift is just so active and so prone to ripping open, it would have to take some serious power to seal it up. Those Weeping Angels are feasting on the time energy down here on Earth. So, we need to find a way to deal with them. Doctor, where do we even begin?"

"I say that we need to go straight to the source and deal with them from there," he replied.

"That sounds like a really bad idea, Doctor," Rory insisted. "Honestly, that's just asking for trouble."

"Yeah, and remember the last time that we dealt with an army of Weeping Angels? We had that crack to erase them. What's going to be there to save us this time?" Amy remarked.

The Doctor sighed. "Nothing. There are some possibilities that I can think of that can at least get rid of some of the Angels here on Earth."

"Like what?" Rory asked.

"Well, before I was me, the Angels took my TARDIS, leaving me and my friend Martha Jones trapped in 1969. The only way that we got it back was because the Angels held up the TARDIS in a cellar and we had someone else rescue it. The TARDIS was transported back to us, leaving the Angels locked in place. I'd rather not do that again, but it doesn't seem like we have that many options," the Doctor recalled.

"So basically, we'd be running from them forever?" River questioned.

"Not exactly, although we do run the risk of being sent back in time," the Doctor replied.

"Nice work, Doctor. Excellent plan, full of intelligent precautions," Sherlock began.

"If you call being sitting ducks an intelligent precaution," Amy drawled. "Doctor, that plan is just bound to go wrong and you know it."

"I know, I know! I just don't know what else to do," he said, frowning. "We just have to make it up as we go along."

"Doctor, I don't think we can afford to make it up as we go along. People are dying every day because these Angels are still out there!" Jack exclaimed.

"So what do you think, Jack? What do you think we should do?"

"I don't know! That's why I called you! Because I have no idea what the hell is going on and you're the only who can stop them! Again…" he said, cooling down. "This always happens. The fate of the world rests in the hands of the Doctor."

"You make me sound like a hero. I'm really just a mad man with a box," the Doctor murmured.

"You're so much more than that, Doctor. I've been with you through hell and high water, and I've seen just what you can do. You don't give yourself enough credit."

"Jack, you don't know what I've been through since then…"

"I know, but I know you. I've known you through all your regenerations, seeing you change for the better. We're going to work together to figure this out, okay?" He looked at the Doctor.

He looked somewhat more optimistic. "Alright. River? Tosh? What can you both tell us about the Rift?"

"From all that we've learned having lived near it for so long, it was ripped open in 1869 when the Gelth fled to Cardiff and it was closed by a psychic named Gwenyth. However, reports date back to 92 AD when it acted as a prison for Abbadon. There have been attempts to go into the Rift, but those who have gone through have never returned. There are two theories about what's on the other side: Either there's just one opening that wanders around the universe, or there are multiple access points to the Rift, but maybe they're not open all the time," Tosh explained.

"I think that Tosh has everything covered on the history of the Rift. However, I think that I can add onto it, with the history of the Weeping Angels," River said.

"Take it away, doll," Jack went.

"And do I intend to. The Weeping Angels are some of the oldest creatures in the universe, existing before the very fabric of reality itself was created. The Weeping Angels originated from the very corners of the universe. Some say that they were the result of the love affair between Medusa and Atropos—"

"One of the three Fates, based on Greek mythology. Responsible for cutting the thread of life and choosing the matter of the person's death," Sherlock added.

"Correct. Resulting in their ability to become stone when looked upon. So it's sort of the reverse of what Medusa, with their fate being decided by the touch of an Angel. Some say that the Weeping Angels were the result of the union of Medusa and the Angel of Death, Samael."

"Or maybe all three of them just had a giant orgy, resulting in a very weird looking baby," Jack chimed in.

River was about to object to it, but shut her mouth. "That's actually not a bad theory. It's hard to say where they came from, but all that we know is that they're a very old race, coming from a far corner. Somehow, they've been able to come from there and spread throughout the universe and beyond, eventually making their way to Earth. Anything that can take on the image of an Angel becomes an Angel itself, as we already know. However, recent research has contested the discrepancies the makeup of an Angel in whether or not it has to be made of stone. Conclusions that have been come upon report that **any** statue that a Weeping Angel touches becomes a Weeping Angel itself," River described.

"I didn't get a chance to ask this earlier, but logically, any statue could be or could become a Weeping Angel?" Sherlock asked.

Al she could do was nod.

"So what, we're going to have to be afraid of every bloody statue that we come in contact with?" Sherlock raised his voice, not liking the possibility of having to live in fear of so many statues.

"Not necessarily. Because people catch statues in their peripheral vision, the Angels are always frozen. However, it's when the city goes to sleep that they come out and attack," River replied.

"That explains why all the attacks were early in the morning! Those people were all found alone early in the morning, making them the perfect target for a Weeping Angel," Rory exclaimed.

"But that still doesn't explain why we're somehow dealing with a new breed of Weeping Angels that just somehow loves to kill people rather than feeding off of their time energy," the Doctor reiterated.

"I don't think anyone knows, Doctor. It's not like there's some sort of queen bee that just keeps reproducing Angels, sending them off to all parts of time and space," River started. "But…that could be entirely possible. There's just so much time energy for them here on Earth to feed off, there's really no reason for them to just be killing people. Unless the Weeping Angels just happen to have a personal vendetta against the people of Earth."

"Well, there are only so many species that happen to like me. The Weeping Angels is just one of them, unless you count Angel Bob."

"So do you think that we could travel to the corner of the universe that the Weeping Angels came from and just wipe them out?" Sherlock asked.

The Doctor looked at him sharply. "Sherlock, if there's one thing that you should know about me, it's that I hate violence. I'm a Time Lord, a more benevolent species. We always believed in the power of negotiation instead of eradicating an entire race. Also, we believed that every species should have the power to speak for themselves. I would be perfectly willing to travel there to talk to them if it weren't for the constant threat of Weeping Angels haunting every place on Earth."

"How would you talk to them without getting killed?" Sherlock asked.

"The Angels have the ability to take the consciousness of someone who has died and communicate through them, like Angel Bob. So you would have to contribute one of your bodies to communicate with the Angels either here or on their planet, but we'd all be in a very not good situation," the Doctor explained.

"So, where do we start?"

"The highest concentrations of Weeping Angels in Great Britain would have to be Trafalgar Square and the Highgate Cemetery," River said.

Sherlock suddenly looked like the wind got knocked out of him as he slumped back in his chair.

"Sherlock? Is everything okay?" Jack peered at him, really concerned.

Sherlock was motionless, except for uttering one word. "John."

Rory looked at the Doctor nervously and whispered something in this ear. The Doctor looked at him surprised but then nodded.

"We'll be right back. We just need to pop out for a bit. Won't be long," the Doctor answered, slipping into Jack's office before the two of them departed.

"Rory, where are you going?" Amy asked.

"Spoilers," he replied.

Amy rolled her eyes, but resumed eating her takeaway.

* * *

The two men went back to the TARDIS, ready for takeoff again.

"Rory, you do realize you run a great risk by crossing over on your own timeline in order to prevent John remembering you later on," the Doctor insisted.

"Doctor, this is for his own safety. He would be really hurt if he knew that I knew about Sherlock," Rory held.

"Very well. Rory, you're on your own for this own," the Doctor explained as he landed, handing him a white pill in a small bottle.

"I know."


	8. Missing Him Was Dark Grey All Alone

It took John a while to recover from Sherlock's death, but he eventually found his footing back in medicine. He convinced himself that if he threw himself back into his work, he could justify his worth as a doctor by saving so many other lives without having saved Sherlock's.

He couldn't go back to the clinic that Sarah worked at. Not because of their past relationship, but because of the pitying looks that he would get from the staff. That was one thing that he didn't need: sympathy.

Seeing Sherlock die wasn't the first time that he saw good men go. Some of those good men were essentially his family in Afghanistan. But Sherlock…was Sherlock. There was really no other way to put it.

He couldn't bear to leave 221B Baker Street, but the memories there were all too painful at the same time. The way that he resolved this was by tidying up the flat to the point where Mrs. Hudson was constantly surprised at how well-kept it was. He spent his days running in Hyde Park until his lungs burned, thinking about everything except Sherlock. But it turned out that that stupid git was all that he thought about. John thought back to the conversation that he and Ella had three months after Sherlock's death.

_"There's stuff you wanted to say…but didn't say it," she said quietly._

_"Yeah." He hated how his voice cracked._

_"Say it now," she pled._

_"No. Sorry. I can't." _

_But there were so many things that he wanted to say. However, everything was said in the way that he cared for Sherlock, how he defended him, how he would be loyal to him to the end of his days. _

_How he missed him._

_How he loved him. _

_And how he always would._

John eventually started looking for work again. He had wavered on applying to work at Barts. It was his alma mater and it really was the launching pad for where everything happened for him: It's where he was trained to be a doctor, where he met Sherlock and spent most of his time aside from Baker Street…but it was also where his world fell apart.

He steeled his resolved, called in, and requested an interview. During the interview, he remained very professional, detailing his experience with working as an Army doctor. He elaborated on how his familiarity with severe injuries in a high stress environment would make him an excellent member of the team.

After the interview, he went back to the flat, feeling good about the interview. A day or two later, he got a phone call from the hospital, letting him know that they were very impressed with his CV and his presentation. They even offered him opportunity to work in the trauma ward, which John was grateful for. Most people would be averse to the graphic nature of the trauma ward, but it was like a drug to John. He needed the adrenaline if he didn't want to live in a state of constant tremors. He couldn't come in soon enough.

The first day of work to him felt like breathing after being underwater for so long. The adrenaline made the limp go away, so it as almost like Sherlock was there with him, keeping him going. There were multiple patients that were coming in from car accidents, crime victims, accidents around the house, and more. Often times, the patients were often too hysterical to be reasoned with, so John delegated some of the tasks to the newer residents while he took on some of the more serious cases, often following them into emergency surgery. He was able to save almost all of them, which increased his confidence in his abilities. There were some that weren't so lucky.

There were a recent number of bizarre cases where people were found apparently strangled by statues. While most of them were found lifeless in the crushing grip of the statue, there were a couple that were holding onto a single thread of life. They were brought in on a Venturi mask at the maximum allowed flow rate of oxygen, hopefully helping them recover. Often more times than not, they slipped into a coma, unable to recover.

Whether or not this was the work of some sick psychopath, that wasn't his concern right now, but he felt like it should have been.

John helped see a patient transfer to the coma ward one day. Rory was busy checking the vital signs of a patient who had been there for about a week when he met John.

"Oh, um, hello. I don't think I've seen you here in the hospital before. I'm Rory Williams, or just Rory," he said, offering his hand.

"Nice to meet you Rory. I'm . For formalities' sake, let's stick with Dr. Watson. But if we're outside the hospital, just feel free to call me John," John replied with a smile, shaking his hand.

"Well, it's nice to meet you Dr. Watson. What's going on with this patient?" Rory asked, rolling over the laptop and starting to pull up the patient's records.

"This is John Parker, age 25. He was found in the grip of a statue in Hyde Park early yesterday morning by park rangers. His O2 sats were at 80% with a severe case of hypoxemia. Due to the ischemia related to the intense compression on his jugular vein, rangers found him unconscious, but barely breathing. I'm just surprised that he even had a pulse," John commented, shaking his head.

Rory just raised his eyebrows, but continued reading the charts. "Well at least he'll be comfortable. Intubated on full oxygen. Someone up there must love him."

"It would seem so. Anyway Rory, I'll be back later to check on him," John said as he left.

"Alright. I'll see you later Dr. Watson," Rory answered while starting to do his assessments.

* * *

John left the coma ward after that and went home since it was at the end of his shift, absolutely exhausted. He trudged into the flat and went through his usual evening ritual of a hot cuppa and some crap telly. He hadn't been eating that much lately and so Mrs. Hudson took it upon herself to bring him some mincemeat pies, providing him with at least some nourishment.

A couple of months had passed and Rory and John had gotten to know each other pretty well. They often ate lunch together in the cafeteria, joined by their colleagues. John felt like he really had a solid group of friends in here. What was nice about them was that they didn't see him as the guy who was friends with the freak known as Sherlock Holmes. They knew him as Dr. John Watson, who could also be addressed as Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. The younger residents were eager to hear stories about his time working as an army doctor in Afghanistan. There was a certain sparkle in their eyes when they were listening to him, like they were listening to their parents tell them their favorite story as a child. Naturally, John told a lot more of the interesting and sometimes hilarious stories.

His friends were also there for him when he felt inadequate about his abilities as a doctor due to the loss of lives that are absolutely out of his control.

"John, it happens. There's nothing that you can do about it," Rory said, munching on a sandwich.

John sighed and rested his head in his hands. "I know, I know. But I just feel like there's so much more that I can do to save them."

"Do you know why you go through every single method of trying to save them?" He asked.

"Because you know you've done everything you can when it isn't enough in the end," John added quietly.

"You're a great doctor. Everyone who gets to work with you is absolutely honored. There have been literally nothing but good things said about you," Rory pointed out.

John smiled a little bit. "Thanks, mate. It's just…"

Rory's mobile rang. "Sorry, it's my wife. I'll be right back." He got up and left.

John nodded, turning his attention back to his sandwich.

Rory returned later with a beautiful woman in tow. "Amy, meet Dr. Watson. Or just John," he introduced.

"Hello. It's nice to meet you, Dr. Watson," Amy answered offering her hand.

"It's nice to meet you too, Amy. And just John, please. Your husband is one of the most compassionate and intelligent nurses I've ever worked with," John said, smiling at both of them.

"Yeah, well that's what helped him graduate at the top of his class and get a job right out of Uni," Amy emphasized, nudging him with a smile.

"Oh, hush. I was just doing my part," Rory said sheepishly, eating some crisps.

Amy pulled out a sandwich from her bag and started eating. There was a comfortable silence between the three of them before John broke it again.

"So Amy, do you come here and eat lunch with Rory a lot?" He asked.

She smiled and tilted her head side to side. "Sometimes. I'm working on the sequel to my first book right now, so I'm pretty busy working with my editor to make sure it's great."

"Really? What's your book about?" John never would have taken her for an author. A teacher, perhaps, but not an author.

"It's about the adventures that a little girl has with her imaginary friend called the Raggedy Man, except it turns out that he's not imaginary at all. The first book is about her adventures when she was a child, while the sequel is about her adventures with him when she's all grown up." she explained proudly. "I published it with a small company, but I'm making my way up."

"Good for you. So these adventures with the Raggedy Man, are there any limits to their adventures?" John asked.

"The thing about the Raggedy Man is that he travels in this blue box that can travel anywhere in time and space, so there are no limits to where they can go," she added.

"It sounds like a really interesting book," John said.

"Thank you! From what I've heard, people of all ages like it because of the adventures that the two of them take. They can be silly and also serious, so it works out for everyone," Amy explained.

"She had me read the first draft. It was fantastic," Rory bragged.

"Oh now, you're just saying that," she countered.

"I'm not. Honestly, you really do have a way with words, Amy. My favorite story was the one about the dinosaurs on a spaceship. It was filled with action and you managed to make it funny because the girl's father-in-law got dragged along for the adventure too," Rory pointed out.

"I'll admit that was one of my favorite ones to write. Giving Queen Nefertiti a voice was one of my favorite parts about it," Amy said.

"Well, you can't beat dinosaurs on a spaceship with Queen Nefertiti along for the ride. I'll have to buy it some time," John said.

Rory was about to eat his sandwich but paused. "Oh sorry, John. You were about to say something before my mobile rang. What was it?"

"It was nothing, really," John replied, drinking his water.

"John, whatever it is, you can just say it," Rory insisted.

John sighed and put his water bottle down. "It's just…my best friend committed suicide…"

Amy and Rory immediately focused all their attention on him. "John, I'm so sorry for your loss…" Amy said gently.

He barked out a laugh, making both of them jump. "The thing is that, I **watched** him jump off that fucking rooftop. He told me that he was a fake and that he made everything up. I'll never believe that though."

"Wait, that story sounds familiar. I hate asking this, but what was your friend's name?" Amy asked.

"Sherlock Holmes," John sighed, looking as if it was physically painful to even mention his name.

Rory resumed eating his sandwich to distract himself from the guilt. Amy rested her hand over John's and just looked at him. He looked back at her and it shocked her that the life left his eyes at the drop of a name.

"Sherlock kept me going, you know. My life was boring before he entered it. I felt like it wasn't going anywhere I had just been recently discharged from Afghanistan when I met him. Shot in the left shoulder. It just grazed the subclavian artery. Could've been a lot worst, but I got lucky. I had a limp and an intermittent tremor in my left hand. Within the first two days of meeting, I moved in with him, chased a mad murderer who doubled as a cabbie, shot that cabbie, and effectively saved his damn life. I never used the cane again after that. Didn't need it," John mused.

"It sounds like he saved you," Rory quipped.

"We saved each other."

* * *

John continued to work relentlessly at the hospital while Rory went home after every shift, looking after him in concern. This had continued for a couple of months before Rory decide that he had enough of John torturing himself.

Rory was about to leave for lunch when he poked his head into one of the break rooms that had bunk beds. A lot of the doctors slept in here whenever they got a chance. There he found John tossing and turning on the bottom, calling out for Sherlock. He jolted awake, drenched in sweat. He wiped his face and fell back on the bed.

"Can't sleep?" Rory asked.

"I forgot the last time that I had a good night's sleep," John confessed.

Rory pulled out the small bottle from his pocket and tossed it over to John. "Here's a sleeping pill. This will definitely help you get a good night's sleep. Considering you've been working nonstop, you need it."

John opened his mouth, but Rory interrupted him with, "No 'buts' John. Please take this. It would make me feel so much better knowing that you got a proper amount of rest."

He handed John a glass of water to go with it. "Trust me, don't try and dry swallow this. It's like swallowing a horse pill."

John laughed and took the pill. Immediately, he started feeling woozy and settled down in his bed. Rory approached him slowly and he tucked John in.

"Sleep well, John," he said as he left. Rory left the hospital, hoping that everything would go according to plan.

The last thing that ran through John's mind before sleep overtook him was Sherlock admonishing him for doing something as boring as sleeping.

A lot of things were boring, but sleeping was not one of them. It was the only time where John could be with him.


	9. Call My Name and Save Me from the Dark

Everyone was just sitting around the table after finishing their takeaway making idle chatter when Rory and the Doctor returned.

"Nice of you to join us again. Where'd you two go off to?" Jack asked curiously.

"Spoilers," the Doctor replied.

"Mmmmm and I thought that I was the only that said that," River chuckled.

"Dear, I'm the one that introduced that to you, if you can recall," the Doctor countered, tapping her on the nose before sitting down next to her.

"What does that even mean? Spoilers?" Sherlock asked. He still looked on edge.

"Spoilers. You know, like things you're not supposed to know before it happens. Like when you see a movie review in the paper and it says spoilers," Rory explained, sitting down next to Amy, who was next to River.

"Anyway, Sherlock. What's going on with you? You looked terrified before I left," Rory asked, already worried about what he had to hear.

"There is a gravestone with my name on it in the Highgate Cemetery and I know for a fact that John visits is every year on my anniversary," he answered, suddenly jumping out of his chair. He paced back forth around the room in his thinking pose while everyone watched him carefully.

"River, how many Weeping Angels are in that cemetery?"

"It's hard to say, considering the size of the cemetery and the number of statues that are there. Why? What are you thinking?"

"If John is there, then the chances of the Angels taking him are very high, yes?"

"Well…yes…Sherlock? What's wrong?" River sat up in her chair.

"Doctor, can you rescue him?"

Every head swiveled in his direction. The Doctor looked at all of them before speaking. "Sherlock, it's not going to be easy. The last time that my TARDIS was around Weeping Angels, they stole it."

"What will it take for them not to take it?"

"We're just going to have to be very lucky and hope that there isn't a group of them waiting for us," he replied.

Sherlock watched the Doctor think while out of the corner of his eye, he saw River signal Amy over to her. They were talking about something quietly, but Sherlock focused his attention back on the Doctor.

"Well, first off, it would help if we had some sort of signal to lock onto to make it easier to find him," the Doctor explained. "like a text message or something."

"I'm on it," Sherlock affirmed, taking out his mobile.

"However, I think it would be in his best interest if there was some sort of other message that we left for him, letting him know what was going on," the Doctor continued.

"I don' t think John would believe in a letter stating that there were statues that could either kill him nicely or kill him savagely," Sherlock questioned.

"It's worth a shot if we're going save him. That's what I did the last time I was in a situation like this!" The Doctor stated, raising his voice suddenly. "Sorry about that. Look, how badly is it that we need to save him?"

"Doctor…"Amy elbowed him.

"What?" He took another look at Sherlock and knew that this was a dire situation.

Sherlock's eyes took on a quality that was half-mad with desperation and half-mad with horror. "Doctor, please. I'll do whatever I can to help save John."

The Doctor regarded him sadly and sighed. "Alright. Go get that signal set up so that we can find him in that cemetery. Amy, I want you to write the letter to John."

"There's stationary is in my office," Jack called out.

"Why me?" Amy asked, even though she was already at his office, rummaging around for paper, an envelope, and a pen.

"Even though Rory gave John that pill, it'll be better if it's from someone who didn't work with him," he said.

"Doctor, you stole one of my retcon pills?" Jack asked.

"Sorry, Jack. I had to. Rory needed it," he replied.

"Well, just hope that John got a good night's sleep," Jack quibbled.

"Ooh. That was an unpleasant experience," Gwen remembered, frowning.

"Wait, what happened? **Rory**," Amy demanded. He hated it when she used that voice.

"So, I may or may not have drugged him," he confessed.

Sherlock stopped in his tracks and turned to look at Rory. He advanced closer to him with a predatory look in his eyes. "You what?"

Rory put his hands up in defense. "It's for his own safety! We worked together for a few months. I should probably mention that I'm a nurse. Anyway, he brought in a lot of patients onto the coma floor and we just happened to work together a lot. Sherlock, it would kill him if he knew I knew about you. This was for his own good. It was a combination of a sedative and an amnesiac. He just won't remember me, unless something triggers it."

"Like what?" Sherlock calmed down a little bit.

"Well, if someone says something significant that triggers the memory that was erased, or if he sees something that can set it off too," Gwen chimed in, looking sharply at him. "Don't forget, we were drugged with the same exact pill and we're totally fine. Sherlock, relax. The Doctor, Rory, and Amy can handle this."

Amy finished writing the letter and sealed it in the envelope. "Now what?"

"Sherlock, have you got that signal up yet? That's the most important part of the plan," the Doctor stressed.

"Right. On it," he said, dialing a number.

* * *

Mycroft was in his house reading the paper when his mobile rang.

"There's not a war going in Cardiff, is there?" He drawled, picking up the phone,

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No. I need you to text John something. Don't question why, just do it. Please."

Mycroft took note at the urgency in his voice. "Of course. What do you want me to tell him?" He heard some other voices in the background, most likely Sherlock talking with his colleagues.

"Just text him, 'Don't Blink.'"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow as he entered the text message and sent it. "There sent. Anything else that you need from me, dear brother?"

"No." The line clicked.

Mycroft sighed and resumed reading the paper. Whatever Sherlock was up to, at least he was in some wonderful company. That Harkness fellow was a character, but he figured that Sherlock needed some excitement in his life until John was back in it.

* * *

Sherlock got off the phone and slumped against a wall. He wasn't sure whether he should be more relieved that John would be rescued or worried that things could be going faster downhill than they already are.

"So, Doctor. What's next?" Sherlock asked.

He broke away from his conversation with Amy and Rory. "Now all we can do is hope that there's only one Weeping Angel where John is, and that the signal will go through at the right time."

"Do you think it will?"

"Yes, yes I think it will. Sherlock, I promise you this. We'll bring John back safe and sound," the Doctor reassured him.

The trio left for the TARDIS and soon the _VWORP VWORP VWORP_ filled the air. Then, nothing.

* * *

The Doctor was piloting the TARDIS while Amy and Rory watched him.

"Doctor, do you think that this plan will go over smoothly?" Rory asked.

"I don't know. And I hate not knowing," the Doctor said, frowning. "But for all our sakes, let's hope so."

"So what am I supposed to do with this letter? I don't want to risk getting near a Weeping Angel," Amy feared.

"Don't worry, we'll just hover over the gravestone and you can just drop it there," he explained.

"It's that easy? It almost sounds **too **easy," she said, a little suspicious.

"Come on Pond. Where's your sense of adventure?" The Doctor teased.

"Oh, it's here alright, although I still think is a bad idea with just dropping the letter and hoping that it lands right where we would want it to," she stated seriously.

The TARDIS stopped right over Sherlock's grave. Amy opened the door cautiously and looked around. It didn't look like there were any Weeping Angels in sight. She gently dropped the letter and watched it float down and settle down over the pile of gifts left for Sherlock. She raised an eyebrow at the riding crops, but closed the door and sighed a breath of relief.

"Now what?" Rory asked.

"We wait for the signal," the Doctor replied, controlling the TARDIS so that it was out of sight.

A couple of hours passed before the signal went through and the TARDIS monitor locked onto it.

"Here we go," the Doctor said.

He teleported the TARDIS right to where John was when the TARDIS started getting thrown around.

"Doctor, what the hell is going on?!" Rory shouted, holding onto the console.

"Looks like we've got company! At least John is backing away from it," the Doctor replied, looking at the monitor. There it was; a lone Weeping Angel ready to send John back in time.

"Doctor! Can't the TARDIS materialize faster?" Amy felt panic clawing at her chest.

"Alright, BOTH of you need to calm down! I've got this!" The Doctor was running around the console, flicking switches, eventually calming the TARDIS down.

They turned around and there John was, looking puzzled. They sank against the console, glad that he was safe, and looked at each other. Amy nodded at him and the Doctor spoke up first.

"Ah, hello John! You're probably wondering where on earth you are and how this managed to appear around you. No matter, you'll learn about it in time. Now, Amy, I want you to ring up that nice lad that gave us the coordinates to John's location. We're going to have to meet up with everyone else. Rory, call River and let her know that we're going to pick her up on the way to Cardiff."

Once again, they were thrown like rag dolls around the room.

"I thought you said that this could stand up to **a** Weeping Angel feeding on the time energy!" Amy shouted.

"Oi! I'm still working on that little bit!" He shouted back.

"Well, you didn't do a very good job with that now, did you?" Rory snapped.

Amy shoved the Doctor aside and took over the console, grateful that River told her how to drive it in the event that a Weeping Angel even thought about taking the TARDIS away. The room calmed down and she adjusted herself with a huff.

"I could've easily done that. And where on earth did you learn that?" The Doctor frowned, circled around the console, assessing what she messed with.

"Well you didn't now, did you? Also, I have your wife to thank for that." She glanced at John and did a double take.

"You're so rude!" She smacked him in the arm. "You didn't even introduce yourself to John. I'm so sorry! I'm Amy, and that's my husband, Rory."

Rory peered from behind the tower and waved. John waved back.

She nudged him again.

"Hello, I'm the Doctor!"

John furrowed his eyebrows, confused.

"Doctor? Doctor Who?"


	10. And Here We Go, Life's Waiting to Begin

"Just the Doctor. You wouldn't imagine how often I get asked that," he replied.

John nodded, still uneasy. "Right. Well, how did you know who I am, how I would be here, and how that thing would be after me?"

"Spoilers," Rory piped up from behind the console before resuming calling River.

"As in you're going to leave me completely in the dark about everything?" John added.

"Yeah, basically. Sorry, John. This is for your own good," Amy winced.

"Well, this isn't the first time that I've been left in the dark about things," he told them.

The Doctor started up the TARDIS again. "What do you mean?"

"Well, my best friend was a proper git. Dragged me along on cases without even bothering to explain the logistics…" John said, trailing off.

"Everything will be explained later on, I promise, John. But for now, you're just going to have to trust us," Amy reassured him.

"Alright. Wait. You look familiar," John quipped, peering at Amy, who was suddenly nervous. "Are you a model or something? I think I've seen you in an advertisement for something. What was it…? Was it perfume?"

Amy relaxed visibly, but John didn't catch on. "Er, yeah. I was the spokesperson for the perfume _Petrichor. _But I gave up modeling after a while to start writing."

"Good for you. I used to run a blog myself," he said.

"I think I've read it! My favorite one was about the aluminum crutch. That was a plot twist that I didn't see coming at all."

John laughed. It was a strange feeling to him. "I'm glad you enjoyed it! Definitely a more exciting in my life compared to now."

"So what are you doing now that's so incredibly boring?"

"I'm a doctor and I work over at Barts in the trauma ward," he told them.

"What a coincidence. Rory works at Barts too!" Amy answered.

"Do you now? What floor do you work on?" John asked.

Rory came out from behind the console and gave Amy a look before smiling at John. "I'm a nurse on the coma floor. I used to work at the Royal Leadworth Hospital before I transferred to Barts."

"And how do you like Barts?" John asked, pleased that he now knew someone else at the hospital.

"Well, it's definitely a lot busier than the previous hospital that I worked at," Rory said with a laugh. "But I like being busier. Sometimes working in a small village can get boring."

"I know what you mean. My life was pretty boring before I started working at Bart's," John murmured before coming up the stairs and sitting in the chair against the railing.

"What did you do before working at Barts?" Rory and Amy asked. It was weird having essentially the same conversation with John, but they thought they might as well keep up with appearances.

"Well, I did a tour in Afghanistan as a Captain in the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. But before that, I was trained at Barts as an Army Doctor. Unfortunately, while on duty, I got shot in the shoulder. The injury wasn't that bad, but it was what happened afterwards that got me discharged from service," John explained.

"What happened?" Amy asked.

"I had a really bad limp. My therapist said it was psychosomatic. Plus I had a really bad intermittent tremor in my left hand. Made things kind of difficult since I'm left-handed," John went on. "Then I came back to London and…"

He looked lost in thought again. They all looked at each other because they knew exactly what, or who, he was thinking about.

"Rory, why don't you go get John a cup of tea? John?" John snapped his attention to her.

"Got a preference for tea?"

John smiled. "Ah, just Earl Grey for me. Thanks."

Rory was about to leave when he turned around. "Sorry, how do I get to the kitchen again?"

"First left, third right, go up the stairs, down the hall, around the corner, and it's the second doorway on your…right," the Doctor replied.

Rory thought about it for a moment and went off to get the tea.

He returned a while later with a cup of tea and couple of biscuits, placing it on the chair next to John. "Here, you must be hungry."

"Thank you so much. I really needed this," John said through eating a biscuit. He took a sip of his tea and sighed. "This is lovely."

"You're welcome," Rory replied. He pulled out his mobile and resumed calling River.

John finished his tea and biscuits and felt a lot more relaxed. "So, Doctor, where are we going?"

The Doctor hesitated before telling him. "Cardiff. That's all I can tell you for now. Sorry, John."

"It's alright. But I hope that for all of our sakes that it's a good reason," he replied.

"Trust me, it's better that you find out later. After all Sherlock—," Rory clapped his hands over his mouth, looking horrified.

John let the cup fall to the floor with a crash, feeling like his world turned sideways before it turned black.

* * *

He woke up later in a bed with a fluffy blanket over him. Alarmed, he jolted awake before the blood rushed back to his head. He had to rack his brain to remember where he was and, _oh._

So they knew something about Sherlock. Meaning that Sherlock faked his death.

Sherlock was alive.

John wasn't sure whether to be elated that Sherlock was alive or if he was absolutely fucking furious for Sherlock to lie to him like that. Both. It was definitely a mix of both.

He debated on whether or not to stay in the room until they were back in Cardiff. With whatever they were in, it could be almost instant or it could be a while. In any case, he decided to explore around whatever they were in.

Surprised was putting it lightly. He was astounded at how many rooms there were in this thing. No wonder the Doctor had a hard time telling Rory where to go. It took some walking, but he eventually found the trio in the console room.

"Ah, John! Good! You're up!" The Doctor looked relieved, but still worried, knowing what happened.

"So what exactly are we on?"

"This is the TARDIS. Time And Relative Dimension In Space. It can travel anywhere in time and space. It can normally turn into anything that's appropriate. Like if we were in Roman times, it would be a column. It's just a police box now since the chameleon circuit broke a while ago," the Doctor explained.

"So…it's bigger on the inside?"

The Doctor's face brightened up immediately. "I love it when people say that!"

John laughed for a little bit and let the smile slide off his face. "Doctor, what's going on? Don't lie to me," John stated.

The Doctor sighed before leaning against the console, facing him. "Okay, so—"

"Raggedy Man, don't," Amy warned.

John suddenly felt a banging sensation in his head and he leaned against the railing. This was definitely not a good day.

"John? Are you okay?" Rory asked.

"Yea—not really, no. I just have this banging in my head," he said, rubbing it with a grimace. "I need to sit down for a little bit."

"Of course. Let us know if you need anything, alright?"

"Yeah, I'll be sure to let you know."

The three of them started talking again and John just let their voices filter in and out of his thoughts.

What a strange predicament to end up in: on some ship or whatever with three people who he's never met before, but whom apparently know about him from Sherlock. Amy looked so familiar, but he couldn't place his finger on it.

Why did his head suddenly hurt when she said "Raggedy Man"? What was so special about it? He stared hard at a spot on the floor, determined to figure it out. It wasn't a particularly exciting phrase, but it sounded so familiar…oh.

He looked up so abruptly at them that they jumped when he caught Rory's eye. "I remember."

"Sorry?" Rory asked.

"I remember both of you…" John said quietly. He stared at both of them.

"Shit…" Rory breathed out. "John, let me explain."

John waited expectedly, the irritation and hurt radiating off him in waves.

"Look, you **did **know me, but I—"

"So how did you somehow wipe my memory—. It was that bloody pill, wasn't it?"

Rory nodded guiltily. "It was after that that I found out that you were connected to Sherlock. I saw how much you were affected whenever you mentioned him and for us to know that he's alive while you're living in the dark about it…I just had to do it. So I went back in time and erased myself from your memory."

"But now that I remember you…"

"That was kind of a lost cause, I suppose," Rory said with an ironic laugh.

"Well now what I know, what's happening next?" John asked more sternly.

"Before I was so _rudely_ interrupted," the Doctor looked at Amy sharply, "I was about to explain everything. We're going to Cardiff in order to meet up with the rest of the gang to figure out how to get rid of the Weeping Angels."

"Wait, there are more of those things out there?" John was startled even more now.

"Yeah…there was a surge of activity in the Time-Space Rift above Cardiff and there's now huge wave of Weeping Angels coming through, killing people daily viciously, mostly through strangulation though. Although, there have been reports of deaths in which the biological dates of the victims don't match up to how old they actually are," the Doctor added.

"Wait. I've had so many patients come in through circumstances where they were strangled by statues. I thought it was the work of some sadistic psychopath, but…they were literally strangled by statues?" John asked, feeling tension seep into his body

He nodded. "Yes. I'm assuming you read the letter that Amy left you very carefully."

"Er, yeah. I didn't really believe it until I saw the Weeping Angel for myself. But what's this about a rift?"

"Basically it's a rip in time and space. So while one side of the rip is above Cardiff, whatever is on the other side, it could be one point in the universe, or multiple points in the universe entering through that Rift," Rory explained.

John sat there, amazed.

"Culture shock, I know. It'll take some getting used to, believe me," the Doctor said.

"So, what's your role in this?"

"To try and stop the Weeping Angels from coming through before they send more people back in time."

"And do you think it'll be that easy?"

The Doctor sighed. "No, it definitely won't be easy. The Angels are alright to negotiate with when they're not trying to kill you or send you back in time."

"You've dealt with them before?"'

"Multiple times. But I was a different man before then," the Doctor reflected.

"What do you mean, a different man?"

"I'm a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey. I'm the last of my species though."

John's jaw went slack. But he closed it promptly for fear of looking rude. "So, you're an alien? You had me fooled there."

The Doctor smiled. "Yeah, well the human appearance helps. But if you ever put me under an x-ray, you'd be in for a nasty shock."

"How do you mean?" John was worried there was something absolutely grotesque inside of him.

"Rory, go get my stethoscope in the box," the Doctor called out.

Rory retrieved it and handed it over to John. John put it on, hesitantly. He placed the diaphragm to the Doctor's chest over his heart. It sounded normal enough. The Doctor pointed to the other side of his chest. John put the diaphragm over that spot and jumped backwards. He took the stethoscope out and stared at the Doctor.

"Y-You have two hearts?"

"Binary vascular system! Great for when one of them goes out for some reason," the Doctor said proudly.

"Yeah like that time when those boxes appeared and I had to use the defibrillator on you," Amy reminded him.

"I still don't know how you humans survive with one heart," he grumbled.

"Well, we can manage just fine with one heart," John answered.

The Doctor shrugged and flicked some switches.

"Where exactly are we, Doctor? It shouldn't take us that long to get from London to Cardiff," Rory asked.

"Well, we've been kind of hovering around. I just wanted to make sure that John was ready," the Doctor said, glancing at John.

"Ready for what?"

The Doctor just looked at him and that's when it clicked.

"Sherlock is there."

"Yes. He's been with them for a few years now. He's been trying to track down people in this criminal web run a man called—"

"Moriarty," John finished.

"You know him?" The Doctor was surprised.

"He tried to blow me up with a bomb vest when we first met," John stated, deadpan.

"Oh." Everyone's eyes widened. "Well, glad you got out of that one alive."

"Well, one of us anyway," John pointed out, his lip twitching. "Moriarty apparently committed suicide after he found out that Sherlock had beaten him at his own game."

"So what is it with those two anyway? Those two seem to have an…interesting relationship," Amy asked.

"I just think that they just think on the same wavelength too well. Moriarty hated being bored and he would do anything to** not** be bored, and he knew that Sherlock was the same way. It was a dangerous game that they played, and it cost lives in the process…"

"Well, Moriarty's gone now, so why is Sherlock going after the people in his web?" Rory asked.

"Sherlock described him as not a man at all, but a spider. A spider at the center of a web. A criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances," John said, recalling that case in the courtroom.

"So basically he has other people doing his dirty work from the grave?" Amy asked.

"Basically. Any word on how Sherlock has been doing?" He was hoping that Sherlock might be done with all of this so he could come home.

"From what I've heard, he's been going to the mainland in-between working on the case of the Angels to take out the other parts of the web," the Doctor answered. "For the most part, he's taken out of all of them except Moriarty's right hand man, Sebastian Moran. No one knows where Moran is. They say trying to catch him is like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. So it could take a while to catch him."

John nodded, letting the _VWORP VWORP VWORP _wash over him. The deafening silence meant that they were back in Cardiff.

"John, we're here. Are you sure you want to see him now? I mean, we can take you to a nice island planet for a little bit of relax—," John cut the Doctor off with his hand.

"Doctor, that's very kind of you to offer me a little bit of time before I come face to face with Sherlock, but I think I'm ready."

"Are you sure?" Rory asked.

"No."

The sound of John's heart threatening to burst out of his ribcage took over. He steadied his hand on the handle of the TARDIS, pulled it, and went through the door, ready to deal with whatever came next.


	11. I Loved You Then, and I Love You Now

Sherlock's perked up at the sound of the TARDIS materializing in another part of the hub. He immediately stood up and paced back and forth, restless, at the thought of seeing John again.

"Sherlock, just relax. Everything is going to be fine," Tosh assured him.

True to his fashion, he completely ignored her and continued to circle around, waving his hands around.

"Wha—" Owen started.

"Just ignore him. He's in his mind palace again." Gwen quirked a smile. "He hasn't done that in ages."

"Sorry what? What's a mind palace? In the years that we've known him, he's never done that," Jack said, confused.

"It's like this sort of memory device. You imagine a place, like a room or a house, and you deposit memories in places by following a route. The theory is if you need to remember something, then if you go through that route again, you can never forget anything," she explained.

"So why does he have to access it now?" Ianto asked.

"I think that he needs it because John is here and he's trying to recall all the reasons he had to leave him," Gwen went on. "It's pretty obvious to all of us how much he cares about John and he wants to make sure that John understands that."

Everyone made a noise of agreement.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that Sherlock was in love with John," Owen added.

"I wouldn't put it past them either to fess up to it," Tosh said.

Suddenly, they heard the voices of the others trailing in and they watched as John laid eyes on Sherlock for the first time in years.

Sherlock turned around and froze.

* * *

There was John.

His John.

His hair, which was normally kept clipped and trimmed, had curled a bit over his forehead and his ears. The warmth that was normally always in his eyes was totally gone, making him more look like a stranger. He was still wearing the same clothes that he always wore: his black jacket, jumper, and jeans. But the way that he carried himself didn't carry the same type of strength that he had when they were together. Before, it was with the strength and command of a soldier. Now, he was a lot more guarded, as if it was protecting a giant wound.

John wouldn't have recognized Sherlock if he didn't take a second look. Gone was the signature mop of curly black hair, replaced with a fluffy batch of ginger hair. What shocked him more was that his Belfast coat was gone. Sherlock was dressed in much more casual clothing than John had ever seen him. The hard look in his cold, calculating eyes was replaced with concern and fear.

Everyone was holding their breath, looking back and forth between them like they were watching a tennis match. They waited on who was going to make the first move. It turned out to be John who turned into a blur as he tackled Sherlock and threw him against the wall, punching everywhere that he could reach. Jack was about to intervene when Gwen stopped him as they realized something. Sherlock wasn't doing anything to stop John from letting out the anger, rage, and sadness that had boiling inside of him for years. He didn't even bother explaining what happened until John was done. Everything that John was screaming at him was choked with sobs.

"Sherlock, you fucking bastard! You left me! Why did you have to leave?! I needed you here…Three years…" John felt all the tension leave his body as he sank against Sherlock. He wrapped his arms around his stupid detective as tightly as possible, missing the presence of his warm body near him. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, never letting him go. He buried his face in his hair, taking in the scent of home.

"John, I'm so sorry. So sorry…" Sherlock murmured over and over again in his hair, kissing his head over and over again. He felt his body shake as he felt the tears coming and threatening to spill over. He pulled John up towards him and rested his forehead against his, letting the tears fall and mix with John's.

Their breaths mingled together as they drank in being together again.

"Never again, John. I swear," he whispered. He peppered John's face with kisses, each one being an apology.

_I'm sorry for lying to you._

_I'm sorry for making you watch me die._

_I'm sorry for leaving you._

_I'm sorry for never telling you how I felt._

When he finally kissed John on his trembling lips, John gasped and brought them together so tightly, nothing could tear them apart.

Every time that they broke apart from the kiss and brought their lips together again, they had a conversation.

**_I hope that you knew what you were doing when you left me._**

_Of course. I'll tell you again in time._

**_You better, you bastard._**

_Really John? Is that all you can call me?_

**_Shut up._**

_Never._

**_I forgive you._**

_I know._

_…__**I love you, you idiot.**_

_I know. _

**_Really Sherlock? That's all you have to say?_**

_Of course not. I love you too._

They had effectively forgotten about everyone else in the room until the Doctor leaned on something and made it crash to the floor. They broke apart and stared at each other before laughing.

"That was uh, quite a show you put on for us there," Jack said, raising an eyebrow.

John blushed and buried himself in Sherlock's chest while Sherlock held him protectively. "Really, Jack? I thought you were more mature than that?"

"Please, Sherlock. I'm not above making inappropriate jokes. Hi, Captain Jack Harkness," he said, holding his hand out for an introduction.

"Hello. John Watson. Or I guess I could say Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers," John replied, saluting.

Jack saluted as well. "Oh, I know. He's pretty handsome, Sherlock," he added with a look of approval. "We've heard a lot about you, John," he teased.

"Really now? What have you heard?" John was curious with what's been said.

"Yeah, Sherlock won't shut up about how you always made sure he always had something to eat, next to uh, Mrs. Hudson, I think her name was. He talks about how he always felt bad that he didn't get the milk because it was something that you always reminded him about. Plus he almost always calls out your name at night. Whether or not it's in the throes of passion, that's up to you," Owen piped in.

"Shut. Up. Owen," Sherlock growled, while he felt John shake against him from laughing so much.

"Sod off, Sherlock. You know it's true," Owen said while laughing.

Sherlock said nothing, but merely grumbled as him and John sat down on the couch, remaining attached to one another.

"You missed me that much?" John asked.

The irritation slid off Sherlock's face as he turned to John with a gentle smile on his face.

"More than you can ever know," he replied.

John kissed him again and rested his forehead against Sherlock's mouth. He felt Sherlock kiss him on the forehead and he felt his heart grow warmer.

"Are you going to tell me how you ended up here?" John asked.

Sherlock sighed and turned on the couch so that he was facing John.

This was going to be a long night.


	12. He's Such a Beautiful Disaster

When everything was said about why Sherlock had to kill himself in order to protect everyone that he cared about, John felt a lot of remorse.

"I'm so sorry Sherlock," John said.

"What are you apologizing for?" Sherlock asked.

"When the false alarm with Mrs. Hudson, I called you a machine. Then you said being alone is what protected you, and I said that friends protect people…And then you went ahead and you protected everyone. I just can't believe that that was the last thing that I said to your face before our conversation on the roof…"

"John, John. Please. You said what was on your mind and I don't blame you for that. I told you before, everything was all part of the illusion to make Moriarty believe that I had no one to help me."

"But—"

"No buts, John. It's all in the past now," Sherlock reassured him.

"But…alright, if you're sure."

"Of course I'm sure. Now, you're wondering what's going to happen next in regard to the Weeping Angels."

"Yeah! No one has told me anything yet since I got here," John exclaimed.

"Well, there wasn't much of an opportunity to do so since you beat the living daylights out of me," Sherlock retorted.

"Oh. Right. So, what's going to happen?"

"The Doctor has this mad plan. Either we go to the planet of the Weeping Angels, which is at the outer corner of the universe, and _negotiate_ with the King or Queen of the Weeping Angels, or we try and close the Rift from here. Granted that whoever closes it can't return, it would definitely have to be a mission of self-sacrifice," Sherlock sighed.

"We can actually talk to the Weeping Angels? I thought that they were silent assassins. They're just statues after all," John stressed.

"Apparently not. According to the Doctor, the Angels can reanimate the consciousness of a recently deceased person and speak to us through them, like with Angel Bob."

"Who's Angel Bob?"

"I don't know. The Doctor never said who it was."

"So this planet of the Weeping Angels? Is it dangerous?"

"No one knows. It's never been heard of or acknowledged until now. But they were created before reality existed, in the very early stages of the birth of the universe. They suspect that the Weeping Angels have been taking on a new breed due to their more vicious nature."

"Amy did mention in the letter how the Angels normally sent people back in time and fed off of that time energy."

"Correct. The question that we're hoping to answer now is how they have become so aggressive and murderous," Sherlock stated.

"And you're hoping to do that by negotiating with them? Why not just kill the leader instead?"

Sherlock snorted. "The Doctor doesn't believe in killing other species. He believes in negotiating with them first. Give them a chance to speak their minds, even if they're trying to kill everyone or send them back in time."

"So, the Doctor. He's an alien."

"Yes."

"He's not usually the idea of an alien when someone says the word 'alien'."

"Being here at Torchwood has really changed my views on the world about everything," Sherlock mused.

"Even more than what happened at Baskerville?"

"Definitely more than what happened at Baskerville."

"So, Torchwood. What exactly is it?"

"Torchwood is an institution established in the Victorian era meant to protect the human race. It also possesses alien technology to arm them for whatever comes next," Jack said, striding in with a box of takeaway.

"Here, you definitely look like you need something to eat." He handed the box to John, along with some chopsticks and a cup of tea. John tucked right into his food, grateful that everyone was looking out for his basic needs when he couldn't even do it for himself.

"How does everyone know that I like tea?" John asked.

"Sherlock told us," Owen hollered from the morgue.

"Is there anything that Sherlock **hasn't** told you about me?"

"Mmmmm not that I can think of. Seriously John, he's all you've talked about before you got here. I think you were the only thing that kept him going while he was here," Owen revealed.

John was touched. He glanced at Sherlock, who was busy fiddling with a button on his coat. It was so endearing of him to be so secretive about his feelings when they were in public.

"And all this time I thought that he had an ego that was so big, it needed its own zipcode," John teased.

"Come now John, you know that I care about other people too."

"I know, I know, you idiot. I'm just joshing you."

Sherlock just smiled and relaxed back on the couch.

"Alright, well I'll leave you two alone. John, you have a place to stay here if you want, unless you want to stay with Sherlock," Jack said.

John gave him a look. "Jack, he's my flatmate. Of course I'm staying with Sherlock. That is," he looked at Sherlock, "if it's alright with you."

"I'd be lost without my blogger," Sherlock declared.


	13. Never Let Me Go, Never Let Me Go

**A/N: Alright, this chapter has some pretty graphic Johnlock sexytimes, so just a warning in case you're not into that sort of thing. But if you get off on it, enjoy! ;)**

Sherlock and John left Torchwood after a long night. As they were taking the walk back to his flat, Sherlock nervously let his fingers dangle near John's, in an attempt to try and hold his hand. John looked down curiously and grabbed his hand confidently. He also leaned to Sherlock and sighed with content.

"Cardiff really is a lovely city," John mumbled, taking in all the sights and sounds of this new city.

"It's not that terrible when there's not an alien invasion that's ravaging the city," Sherlock drawled. John giggled; it was a sound that Sherlock had missed dearly in the time that they were apart.

They entered the building and Sherlock gave his regards to Mrs. Kendrick.

"Oh Sherlock! I was wondering when you'd be back. And who is this?" She asked, indicating to John.

"This is my friend, Dr. John Watson," he introduced.

"Best friend, actually," John emphasized. Sherlock had to really suppress his grin.

"Well, it's nice to meet you Dr. Watson. Are you intending to stay in the flat as well?"

"Just for now until I find a place of my own—"

"Nonsense! Any friend of Sherlock's is a friend of mine. Feel free to stay as long as you like. Sherlock's friends are really lovely. I couldn't bear to charge them with rent, so don't feel obligated to pay for rent," she explained.

"Oh. Mrs. Kendrick, I feel I—"

"No, buts Dr. Watson. Please. Make yourself at home," she stressed.

"Well, thank you very much, Mrs. Kendrick. I'll try and make sure Sherlock doesn't destroy the flat," John joked.

"Sherlock has kept the flat looking absolutely impeccable since he's moved in. Honestly, I haven't a better tenant than him."

"Really now?"

"I assure you."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

They entered the flat and John almost laughed. She was right; the flat was really boring compared to Baker Street, probably because Sherlock spent most of his time at Torchwood anyhow.

John smiled at the canvas above the fireplace covered with a smiley face in yellow spray paint. There were just some things that could never change. He looked around the flat as Sherlock made some more tea.

Peering into the bedroom, he was surprised that such a small flat was able to accommodate a more than modestly sized bed. Shrugging, he went back into the kitchen sat at the counter where Sherlock put out nice cup of tea. John groaned when he felt the warmth seep down and slither around his whole body.

"Good?" Sherlock asked.

"It's perfect. And you remembered that I don't take sugar."

"In either your tea or your coffee," Sherlock added.

"This is a really nice flat. How long do you think you're going to stay here?"

Sherlock took a sip of his tea. "Probably until this whole thing is over."

"You mean when you catch Moran."

Sherlock looked at him in surprise. "You know about him?"

"The Doctor explained it to me on the way over here."

"So you know that it's going to take me a while to track him down, or just let him come find me," Sherlock said cautiously.

"Yes, I'm aware of that."

"It will probably take me months to years to find him, John. I don't expect you to stay with me, even though I really want you to."

"I'm not leaving you again. Three years without you was bad enough. Now that I know that you're alive, there's just no way that I can't be without you, Sherlock. You have to understand that." John couldn't bear the thought of being back at Baker Street doing his boring day to day routine while knowing that Sherlock was only a few hours away, fighting with aliens and crime lords all in the name of protecting everyone.

People would peg Sherlock as a selfish git sometimes, but he really does have a heart of gold. It's just hidden beneath everything in order to protect himself and others around him.

"Alright. What are you going to do in the meantime?"

"I suppose I'll have to talk to my boss at Barts and explain that I need to take some time off. If I explain everything to them, it might be a bit of a shock, but I'm hoping that he might understand why I have to leave."

"John…"

"Shut up, Sherlock," John murmured, leaning across the counter, and kissing him.

It was initially a gentle kiss, but it soon turned passionate as they tried to come together as closely as possible as the counter would allow them. All the unspoken feelings of love and devotion poured into it, nearly buckling John in his knees.

John growled and broke away, darting around the counter and pulling Sherlock closer to him by his coat, consuming him once more. He shoved Sherlock against the refrigerator, shoving their hips together. John ran his hands through Sherlock's hair, locking his head in place. Occasionally, he pulled on it, earning a moan from Sherlock.

Without even realizing it, their hips starting moving in sync, aching to relieve the delicious pressure building in their lower abdomen. It started out slow and it was almost a torturous process, but sweet torture at that. John and Sherlock were determined to make this draw out as long as possible. It was as if they already knew all the ways to bring each other to their knees.

John was essentially fucking Sherlock with his tongue (bless his years playing the clarinet in school), leaving Sherlock panting and wanting more. Sherlock didn't want to be outdone though. He flipped them around, pinning John against the refrigerator and pinning his hands above his head.

John wouldn't admit it until later on, most likely a lot sooner than he thought, but he considered himself a dom. In the case of when he was with Sherlock, he would do whatever Sherlock wanted him to do. Probably being a switch most of the time.

He felt the bulge grow larger in Sherlock's jeans and he knew that he needed to give it a proper greeting. Trying to get out Sherlock's grip was like trying to get a leg out of a bear trap. Somehow, this turned John on even more. He hitched his leg up and hooked it around Sherlock's, fusing them together. He tried to get out of Sherlock's vice grip, but he was having none of that today.

Eventually, Sherlock let go with one of his hands, sneaking it down to untuck John's shirt from his jeans. John took this opportunity rip his hands away and take off Sherlock's jacket and throwing it to the side. He hesitated on taking off Sherlock's shirt and asked the question anyway.

"Stupid time to be asking this, but can I take off your shirt?"

"You have my unlimited consent," Sherlock rumbled.

The only times that they broke kissing was to take off each other's shirts and throw them wherever. Sherlock fumbled with John's belt and whipped it off, taking his jeans down with them. John was a little more nimble with taking off Sherlock's jeans, shoving them down his narrow hips.

Sherlock scanned and memorized John's muscled torso, kissing every scar that had ever ravaged it. He eventually dropped to his knees, kissing his thighs and eventually making his way up to the tent in John's pants, already damp with precum. John was shivering with anticipation with what was about to happen next, when Sherlock grabbed him by his arse and picked him up. John automatically locked his legs around Sherlock's hips as he carried him into his bedroom, never letting his lips leave John for one moment.

John felt himself get dropped gently onto the bed as Sherlock crawled over him, kissing him again. Time seemed to stop as they laid there, committing the sensations of their bare skin together to memory. John's hands wandered up and down Sherlock's back, fascinated by the wiry muscle inside his lanky frame. Sherlock wandered down John's torso, kissing his abdomen along the way to grab his pants with his teeth. Just the sight of Sherlock with his eyes nearly blown out was enough to send John over the edge, but he had no intention of leaving John in the dark.

John raised his hips up and Sherlock took off his pants. Gently, he started licking up and down the shaft, getting used to the feel of it. Immediately, John's hips started bucking up and down on the bed.

"It's been a while, hasn't it, John?" Sherlock teased as he very gently grazed the shaft with his teeth.

"Sherlock, shut up," John growled, threading his fingers through Sherlock's hair, holding his head in place.

"So demanding," Sherlock murmured as he fully engulfed John's cock.

John was overwhelmed by the surrounding of wet heat and moaned out loud, his hips moving even more erratically. Sherlock added both of his hands in there as they circled in alternate directions around the base, creating a whole mess of sensations.

"Oh, god, Sherlock, fuck, I'm gonna—" John felt the release coming, but Sherlock slowed down his pace enough that it was about to drive John mad.

"Sher—" he was about to berate Sherlock, but he picked up the pace again and made sure that John was taken care of very well, swallowing when John released.

John laid there for a moment, trying to catch his breath, but then picked Sherlock up by the shoulders and flipped them over, catching Sherlock off guard.

"It's only fair that I return the favor, love," John whispered against his lips as he nipped them. He kissed down Sherlock's flawless torso, flicking his nipples as well, and made his way down to the waistband of his pants. John took them off in a single fluid movement and gently massaged Sherlock's legs, shaking while trying to keep control. It was clear that Sherlock worshipped him, physically and emotionally, and John had no intention of not returning that adoration.

Sherlock looked down at him and was almost blown away by how dark John's eyes were in the moonlight filtering through the window. His tip was leaking and John spread it out over the entire shaft, starting out with a gentle pressure and speed. John kept his eyes on Sherlock, watching at how that beautiful neck arched back as Sherlock was moaning. He increased the speed and eventually swallowed his cock down to the base.

Sherlock was overwhelmed. It's not like this was his first time having sex with someone, but this was the first time with someone that really loved him. He let his hands wander down into John's hair and gently scratched his scalp. What he wasn't expecting to hear was the moan that was elicited from John and traveled down his shaft. Curious, Sherlock scratched John's head again, earning more moans. John broke away from sucking his cock to pay more attention to his scrotum. He lapped at the sac and rubbed the perineum, making Sherlock's brain melt from the filth of it. He felt the tension coil tighter and tighter in his lower abdomen as his hips starting thrusting upward in a staccato rhythm.

Just when he thought he was going to come, John deep-throated him, sending Sherlock over the edge. Even as he was coming down from the high, John continued to suck him from the base to the tip, eventually kissing the shaft and kissing his inner thighs. Sherlock couldn't even look at John because of the painful crick in his neck, so he laid his head back down and let the sensations wash over him.

He felt John's tongue wander near his entrance and that's when he spoke up.

"John."

"Hm?"

"Come here," he purred.

John was on top of him and Sherlock flipped them over again, making his way down towards his groin. Sherlock supported John's knees on his shoulders as he kissed his inner thighs, eventually making his way towards his entrance.

"Shut up."

"I didn't anything," John breathed out.

"You were thinking. It's annoying. Just let your mind wander and I'll take care of every," he thrust his mouth near the puckered hole and poked his tongue inside, "thing." He continued to gently lick and nibble the entrance, sticking his tongue in occasionally, knowing fully aware of how sensitive it can be and how it could drive John mad.

He loved it when he was right.

John groaned and grabbed the sheets so hard, his knuckles turned white. "Fucking Christ, Sherlock."

Sherlock fumbled for the lube in the drawer in his nightstand and coated his fingers vigorously. He gently massaged the entrance with his index finger, reveling in the sound of John's hisses of pleasure, easing his way in. Immediately, he curled his finger towards, delicately brushing John's prostate.

"Too much. Too much," John grunted out.

Sherlock eased up, coming up to kiss him gently to help him relax. It became more intense as he increased the pressure and speed with his fingers, adding up to two more until John was unabashedly wanton.

"Are you sure about this, John?" Sherlock whispered against his lips.

"I've never been surer of anything in my life," John replied, his eyes almost rolling in the back of his head. Sherlock bit the outer lobe of John's ear and his neck, sending fire to his groin.

Sherlock removed his fingers and slicked his cock up and positioned himself at John's entrance. He eased his way in slowly because he didn't want to hurt John. However, John hooked his legs around Sherlock's hips, burying himself inside John up to the hilt.

"Don't you dare be gentle with me, Sherlock," he growled. His eyes looked feral at this point, which turned Sherlock on beyond all reason.

"As… you… wish," Sherlock punctuated with each snap of his hips. He reached his hands over John and grabbed the headboard, sending the bed slamming into the wall with each thrust. John grabbed Sherlock's hips and brought them closer to him in an effort to make them even more unified, an almost savage rhythm established.

When that wasn't enough for either of them, Sherlock brought his head down and kissed John, mimicking what was happening below them. John moaned deep into his mouth, gently biting and sucking on Sherlock's tongue. He pulled Sherlock's hair again because he knew that it was another way to get him off, and smirked when a deep guttural moan erupted from Sherlock's throat. He let his fingers scratch down Sherlock's back, clinging onto him and living in this moment.

"John, look at me," Sherlock groaned.

It took a lot of effort, but John locked eyes with him. There, he could see everything that Sherlock couldn't say out loud, which reduced down into the simple fact that he could never live without John. Sherlock could see it in John's eyes too and he felt like the universe consisted of just the two of them in that bed. He was certain that he would feel about this way for the rest of his life; that his universe had John at the center of it and everything else was transport.

"Oh, shit. Fuck, Sherlock, I'm gonna—," John panted out, kissing Sherlock because he was pretty sure that there was no way that he could keep his eyes open as he dove into sweet oblivion.

"Come with me, John," Sherlock panted, ramping up the speed as he felt himself going towards the edge.

For one moment, waves of pleasure consumed them, slithering through every pore and cell.

Sherlock collapsed on John, feeling their hearts beat as one. They laid there, exhausted, but very much satisfied. Eventually, Sherlock pulled out of John and drew him on top of his chest, holding him close. John rested his head under Sherlock's neck, kissing it before nestling and feeling like order has been restored to the universe.


	14. Lucky I'm in Love With My Best Friend

Sherlock twitched at the tickling sensation on his nose and was about to bat it away when he realized the addition weight that was on top of him, and chuckled quietly. John looked like a child, with his hand curled up on his chest, more relaxed than Sherlock had ever seen him. Sherlock tried to move, but John just grunted and nestled in closer, sighing in content. Looking outside, he saw that the sun hadn't come up yet.

"Sherlock," John breathed out.

He knew John wouldn't be able to hear him even if he tried, so he settled for kissing him gently on the forehead, feeling his heart lift when John's lips curled into a small smile. He shut his eyes again and held John closer, letting sleep consume him once more.

John woke up feeling gentle circles being drawn onto his back. Picking up his chin and resting it on Sherlock's chest, he looked up and saw Sherlock looking very relaxed, staring at the ceiling with the other arm resting under his head.

"Morning, love," John groaned out, arching his back and rolling fully on top of Sherlock, letting their hips align.

"In fact," he rolled his hips into Sherlock's, "it's a **very** good morning."

Compared to their animalistic fucking the night before, the morning sex was more about them bringing each other up and down from Cloud Nine.

"So is this what every night and morning are going to be like now?" John asked. "Not that I don't mind it, of course."

"I was hoping that you wouldn't mind. Because you should know by now," Sherlock nipped John's bottom lip, "I tend to have an insatiable appetite."

John kissed him hard. "Come on, we better get ready. If we don't get out of this bed now, I don't think we'll ever leave."

Sherlock pouted, but smirked regardless. He sighed and heaved himself out of bed, padding his way to the bathroom. One glance over his shoulder, and John was rolling his eyes and following him inside, smiling anyway.

Eventually, they got ready and left the flat. They grabbed coffee and pasties at one of the local coffee shops as they discussed what the agenda as for today while Sherlock glanced at the paper for any more deaths.

"Well, as I told you last night, I'm going to have to make some phone calls and explain to my boss the situation with us," John explained, eating his pasty.

"And how do you plan to elaborate it? You can't exactly say that you're here hoping to fight off evil statues," Sherlock countered.

"He knows about you and about us."

"What did you tell him?"

"I didn't really spell it out. But I told him that I lost my best friend and from the look on his face, he interpreted best friend as more than that. Anyway, he thought that I meant that you left me, which in a way you did. But the point is that I'll explain to him that I managed to get in contact with you in Cardiff and that I'm taking time off so that we can reconcile."

"Well, that's not too far from the truth," Sherlock chuckled.

"Precisely. I'll start looking around for work at a clinic. Nothing permanent because who knows how things could go while we're here?"

Sherlock nodded and resumed drinking his coffee, but paused. "John?"

"Hm?"

"How would you describe us?"

"How do you mean?"

"Relationship-wise, I suppose."

John took a large swig of his coffee and plunked it on the table. "I would say life partners."

"So not just a couple?"

"Sherlock, I think we're the furthest thing from a traditional idea of a couple, but I wouldn't have it any other way."

"I agree." Sherlock smiled at John over his coffee.

They finished their breakfast and walked over to the Millennium Center.

"What are we doing here?" John asked, looking around.

"Follow me," Sherlock instructed. They went around the dock and through a nondescript door. Ianto popped out from behind the curtain and looked pleased to see both of them.

"Morning!" He greeted.

"Morning, Ianto. I don't think you and John were properly introduced yesterday," Sherlock pointed out. "Ianto, this is my friend, Dr. John Watson."

"Well, it's nice to meet you Dr. Watson," Ianto said, offering his hand.

"John, please," he replied, shaking his hand. "And I think the term 'life partner' fits us better."

"I think it does so too, sir."

"Ianto is in charge of anything involving administration and logistics," Sherlock explained.

"Sherlock, you make my job sound more important than it actually it is."

"Please, your role at Torchwood is just as important as anyone else's," he scoffed.

"I didn't think that it would be possible for you to give so many compliments," John said in mock shock, nudging him.

"Sherlock has his moments where he just randomly insults us, but we've just learned to take it in stride. It's never been anything too horrible, actually."

John almost spat out his coffee. "On the bright side, it seems like he's very fond of all of you. At least none of you are Anderson or Donovan."

The mere mention of his name and Sherlock looked like he smelled something utterly foul.

"I presume that they were people that you two weren't particularly close with?" Ianto asked, trying not to laugh at the look on Sherlock's face.

"Yeah...not really. They both work for Scotland Yard and all of them didn't get on very well, to put it lightly," John explained. "Anyway, I'm glad to see that being here has helped Sherlock out."

"We've all helped each other out since he's arrived. He's a fantastic team member and he's an excellent violinist. It's particularly lovely when we're all stressed out. He just plays and the tension melts away."

Sherlock fiddled with the hem of his sweater. "It just helps me think."

"It's also his way of expressing how he's feeling. If he's having a particularly bad day, then it just sounds atrocious. But if it's a good day, then it's one of the most beautiful things that you could ever hear," John said with a smile.

"Oh, now that I think about it, you're right. Some days, his playing does sound kind of off," Ianto noted. "Anyway, don't keep the boss waiting." He pushed the button, opening the bookcase.

Sherlock and John went downstairs, down the hall, and into the lift.

As they exited the lift and went through the doorway, they could hear Jack and the Doctor shouting over something from inside the TARDIS, which was parked inside the main area of the Hub.

"Doctor? Jack? What's going on?" Amy and Rory asked, entering in with their breakfast.

All four of them ran inside to see what all the ruckus was about. They followed the source of the noise until they were in the library, where they saw the two of them on one of the upper levels, cheering. Jack and the Doctor were dancing around, looking really happy about something. They turned to look down at their audience and immediately their expressions became even more gleeful.

"Alright, I'm going to ask again. What's going on?" Amy emphasized.

"We think we've figured out how all of this started and how we can get there!" The Doctor exclaimed.


	15. Knowledge is Power

The Doctor and Jack had stayed up all night after everyone else went home, trying to get to the bottom of this situation. From what they could gather, there hasn't been a significant increase in the number of deaths associated with the Weeping Angels. They pored over files over past cases concerning them and were growing more and more frustrated as the hours went by with nothing to show for their efforts.

It wasn't until they looked way far back into their database concerning the origin of the Weeping Angels that they were finally getting somewhere.

"Jack, take a look at this," the Doctor stated.

They were currently in the library inside the TARDIS, which contained a seemingly unlimited number of books on a unimaginable amount of subjects.

"What do you have?" Jack was flipping through a book and set it down and stood next to the Doctor, peering over his shoulder.

"According to this book, after the first Weeping Angels were created, that particular group came through the Rift."

"Continuing the lineage of the original Weeping Angels?" Jack asked.

"Right. But if we look into the mythology of Medusa, as we know, she was frozen by Perseus by being forced to look into her own reflection," the Doctor explained.

"So if Medusa isn't around anymore, who's continuing the line?"

"Remember when River mentioned that she could have mated with either Samael or with Atropos?"

"Yeah? What about it?"

"Let's think about it this way. Medusa was one of three sisters known as the Gorgons. All who which—"

"Have the ability to turn people into stone for looking at them. So it has to be one of the other sisters who is continuing the line of Angels! But that still doesn't explain the Angels blatantly killing for all of London see," Jack said, scratching his head.

The Doctor continued to skim through the book. "It seems like the other two sisters, Stheno and Euryale, wanted to exercise their wrath over Ancient Greece to avenge the death of their sister and their transformation into terrible monsters. However, it seems that Stheno, the eldest was the most ferocious of the three sisters, having killed the most men. So it's more likely that she would be the one to make a deal with Samael and/or Atropos to continue the line of Weeping Angels."

"For the record, I still think that they had an orgy. Plus, shouldn't it say who produced the Weeping Angels in that book of your?" Jack chimed in.

The Doctor looked at him sharply and looked through the book again, his eyebrows raised. "It doesn't say exactly who produced the Weeping Angels, but it's leaning towards your theory."

"Told you. But it all makes sense now! But how do we know for sure that she's the one that's instilling the new Weeping Angels with all this rage? And how is it they're still able to produce Weeping Angels if she has the ability to turn everyone around her into stone by looking at them?"

"That's why we're going to that planet and dropping that dead body down there to be reanimated so that he or she can explain to us what's going on," the Doctor added, flipping through the book again.

"And how are we going to communicate with a reanimated dead person? We can't just strap a communicator onto it and listen to it with a radio."

"Actually, we can. That's what I did last time when I dealt with the Weeping Angels because they killed one of the clerics and reanimated his consciousness, acting as the leader of the Weeping Angels."

"And it worked?"

"Yeah. Except he made me angry, and it's something that you don't want to do," the Doctor quietly fumed.

"I know," Jack replied, rubbing the Doctor's shoulder sympathetically. "So we're definitely following through with that plan. But how are we going to land on that planet without the Angels trying to steal the phone box? They feed on time energy and the fact that the TARDIS is basically that energy itself, it's going to be almost impossible to get there without getting sucked into a bad situation."

"Ah, yes. That's going to be quite a problem isn't it…Do you think that it would be possible to use your Vortex manipulator to get us through it? I think that it would be a little easier to land on the planet that way without having to worry about my TARDIS being stolen," the Doctor asked, putting away the book and leaning against the shelf.

Jack looked a little uneasy about it. "The only way that it can work with multiple people is if they're in constant contact. Now, I'm all for getting cozy with your new friends if it helps get everyone to where we want to go, but if we just have one vortex manipulator, it's going to make things very difficult if we get into trouble." He paced around, rubbing his chin in thought. "I suppose that I could get a hold of my friend Captain John Hart to see if he can lend me another manipulator.

"It's that easy?"

Jack quirked a smile. "Well, we have a little bit of history together, so I think he'd be willing to help me out."

"But I thought that the agency had closed," the Doctor asked, looking confused.

"It did, but knowing John, and I know him **very** well, I wouldn't put it past him to have stolen an older model of the vortex manipulator just because he could."

Jack flipped up the cover of his manipulator and fiddles with it for a bit, trying to get in contact with John. It blipped and Jack read it. Based on the look on his face, it looked like it was going to be a good outcome.

"So?" The Doctor was anxious.

"Looks like we'll get our hands on a vortex manipulator!"

"Fantastic!"

Jack and the Doctor cheered and jumped around excited at the possibility of being able to end this once and for all. It wasn't until they heard people walking in that they looked down and saw Sherlock, John, Rory, and Amy looking up at them curiously. Jack and the Doctor grinned even more.

"Alright, I'm going to ask again. What's going on?" Amy emphasized.

"We think we've figured out how all of this started and how we can get there!" The Doctor exclaimed.

"Really? Tell us more," Sherlock demanded.

"Well, if you come up here, it would be a lot easier to explain than if we just stayed here shouting at each other," Jack pointed out.

* * *

All four of them went up the stairs and met up with Jack and the Doctor. There were some sofas on the upper level near the bookshelves, so they all sat down. The four of them sat on one while Jack and the Doctor sat in one across from them.

"So, how has this been happening?" John asked.

"Remember how there was the theory of the Weeping Angels being born of Medusa and or Atropos or Samael?" The Doctor asked.

"Yeah?" John replied.

"How familiar are you all with your Greek mythology?" Jack asked.

"Medusa was forced to look into her own reflection by Perseus and was consequently beheaded, so it's highly unlikely that she would continue to help continue producing Weeping Angels. She was one of three sisters known as the Gorgons, all of whom which possess the ability to turn people into stone. The eldest sister, Stheno, was the most aggressive and ruthless out of the three and was immortal. Euryale, the second eldest, was also immortal and was known for her cries for the death of the youngest sister, Medusa. Medusa was mortal. The conclusion that you two have come to is that Stheno has replaced Medusa with continuing the line of Weeping Angels because of her murderous streak," Sherlock stated.

Everyone except John stared at him in amazement.

"Please don't tell me that was fantastic or amazing or remarkable. John's exhausted every variation of that available to the English language."

The Doctor swallowed. "Er, right. That's exactly it. I'm going to assume you know how we're going to go that planet."

Sherlock chuckled. "No, I don't."

"Well, that's new. I haven't heard you admit that you don't know something," Amy remarked.

"I've heard that before, but only once in my life," John piped up, snickering. Sherlock elbowed him in the ribcage.

"So how are we going to get to the planet without the Angels trying to take the TARDIS?" John asked.

Jack rolled up his sleeve and showed them his vortex manipulator.

"With this," he gestured.

"And what exactly is that?" Rory asked.

"It's a vortex manipulator. It's like traveling in the TARDIS, but not, basically," Jack explained.

"Will we each get one?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, no. The thing with these manipulators is that they were originally to members of the Time Agency, which is what I was a part of before Torchwood. Unfortunately, the Time Agency disbanded, so there's no way for you to get your hands on one unless you somehow managed to track a Time Agent and grab from their cold, dead hands—"

"River got that covered..." the Doctor muttered.

"Bu—. Oh. Really? Any idea who it was from?"

"No, although she did say that it was from a 'handsome Time Agent.'"

"Well, the more vortex manipulators we have the better. Anyway, I managed to get a hold of one of the former Time Agents and he's willing to let us borrow one of them for the mission."

"It was that easy to get a hold of it? I would like to think that people would like to hold on a little bit longer to their technology," Sherlock remarked.

"You would think so, but he's a really good friend of mine. He knows how dire the mission is, so he doesn't have a problem with lending it to me for a while. Apparently, he's settled down with this woman in Mexico. Love at first sight, he told me. So he doesn't have a need for the vortex manipulator anymore."

"Well, good for him. So when do you think we'll have the manipulator by?" The Doctor asked.

"Probably within a couple of days. He's got some stuff going on back home with his lady friend."

"Wonderful! So now that we've got this all sorted out, how about we all have some breakfast? Rory and I went down to this bakery and picked up some pastries," Amy suggested, plunking down the paper bags on the table in between them. "Can't go fighting aliens on an empty stomach now, can we?"

"You sound like my mum," Sherlock observed, taking a quiche out and eating it.

"That's because I **am** a mum," Amy enunciated, digging out a croissant and ripping it in her mouth.

"Well, good for you. What's your daughter's name?" John asked, reaching in and grabbing a biscuit.

Amy, Rory, and the Doctor all looked at each other. John got the sense that they all shared some sort of telepathic mind field with how often they did this.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try us," Sherlock challenged.

"River is our daughter," Amy responded nonchalantly, but it was clear she was still trying to make it sounds dramatic based on the looks on Sherlock and John's faces. "Speaking of which, where is she?"

"Last time I checked, she was with Tosh taking note of the progression of the Rift activity over the last couple of years," Jack said through chewing his food.

The two men stopped chewing on their food to stare at Amy and Rory.

"You look awfully young to have a daughter who could pass as your mother," Sherlock peered at her.

"River is a child of the TARDIS, human, but born with Time Lord DNA," the Doctor explained.

"How is that possible? You two are both human!" John exclaimed, gesturing to both of them with his food.

"Well yeah, but we had her on board the TARDIS while it was going through the Time Vortex," Rory added.

"And by you had her, you mean…" John started.

"Yes. THAT."

"Right. So River is your daughter. So how is it that she looks so much older than you?"

"The best way to explain it is that her timeline is going in the opposite direction of ours. So the younger the Doctor is, the older she would be," Amy explained.

"So what? You've seen her death?" Sherlock asked.

No one said anything. Amy and Rory had no idea how to respond, but the Doctor already knew the answer to that.

"Well...no," the Doctor lied. He didn't want to tell Amy and Rory that River died when he was in his previous regeneration, even though she is essentially going to live forever.

"We've met her at so many different points in time, it's really hard to say how old she really is anyhow," Rory admitted.

"What do you mean at different points in time?" Sherlock asked. "I thought that time was just a straight linear progression."

"Well, no. Not really. Actually, time is quite the opposite of that. People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but **actually** from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint - it's more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly... time-y wimey... stuff."

"Wibbly wobbly, timey wimey stuff? Honestly Doctor, I thought you would have a better description for time than that," Sherlock snorted.

"How else should I explain time to you humans? You like it when everything is so simplistic," the Doctor scowled.

"Not everyone has had your experience of traveling all around in time and space, Doctor," Amy said, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, sorry about that. I tend to resort to insulting your species a lot," he apologized.

"That's alright. Well, anyway, I think we all learned something new. River is your daughter, time is wibbly wobbly timey wimey, and we can eventually go to the planet of the Weeping Angels and finally end this whole situation," John cut in.

Jack's vortex manipulator blipped and he snapped his attention to it, fiddling with a couple of buttons, revealing a hologram of an attractive looking man.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," John teased.

"Nice to see you too. Meet Rory, Amy, Sherlock, John, and the Doctor. Most of them are honorary members of Torchwood," Jack laughed, gesturing to everyone.

"Hm. Your new friends are all pretty cute," he stated, looking at all of them appreciatively.

"Sorry, is he referring to all of us?" Rory asked.

"We're from the 51st century, where our attraction to other based on gender is totally irrelevant," John explained.

"And based on species too," Jack added. John couldn't help but laugh.

"Oh yeah, that too...Anyway, I managed to find a spare vortex manipulator, although I honestly don't know how I swung this one," he held it up and grinned at Jack.

"So here's the plan. You teleport here and hand it off, and I'll give you a lift back to your time and place," Jack instructed.

"Sounds like a good plan to me. It might take a little bit of time, as in months, but I promise I'll get it here when I can," John reaffirmed.

"What's going to take you that long to pop from Mexico to Cardiff and back again?" Jack questioned.

John winced. "The issue that we have here I'm on a different time line. I'm in 2009, to be exact. The Rift here right off of the Gulf isn't exactly the most volatile one. It's going to take some time for me to tinker with the manipulator so that it can sync up with the peaks of Rift activity, making it a lot easier for me to get to your time. So you're going to have to trust me on this one, alright?"

"Alright. I'm not exactly happy with this plan—" Jack started.

"I'm not happy either, but this is what we have to work with," John reasoned. "Look, I'll get here when I can. I'll see you all later."

He gave a quick wave and cut off the transmission.

"So what do we do now?" Amy asked.

"I guess you're going to have to get settle here until John arrives, whenever that'll be," Jack suggested. "As for me, I'm going to take care of paperwork, as always." He got up from the couch and left.

"By the way, Sherlock, John," he said, turning to look back at both of them. "Did you guys get a good night sleep? I know you two have had a rough couple of weeks."

"Yeah, we feel pretty rested. Thanks for asking," John responded, smiling.

"I'm always looking out for my team members, so it's only fair of me to ask both of you as well, but you two look pretty great this morning," Jack implied, gently scratching his neck, and winking at both of them before he exited the library.

They looked at each other when their eyes dropped down to their necks: delicate bruises were starting to blossom from beneath their collars. The blush creeped up their necks and they excused themselves, muttering expletives along the way.

"What's wrong with them?" The Doctor asked.

"Oh nothing at all. But I think that they had a **really** good night," Amy whistled after the two men. She vaguely heard a "sod off, Amy!" before she started cackling.

* * *

"Well, I think we should all go and see if they need help with anything in the Hub," the Doctor proposed, getting up to leave.

As they were leaving the TARDIS, the Doctor heard his monitor beep. He went back to take a look at it and his eyes widened.

"Sherlock! You better get in here!" He hollered.

Sherlock ran in a moment later. "What is it Doctor?"

"I think we found Moran, and I think he made a deal with the Angels to do some of Moriarty's dirty work, and I think there are others out there who are trying to catch him," the Doctor explained.

"Any idea on who's after him?"

"It looks like," the Doctor typed something on the communication panel to bring up more results, "a couple of Americans and...an angel?"


	16. Obsessed With the Mess That's America

"Cas, explain to me again why we had to go all the way to Cardiff," Dean demanded, flipping his map around to try and figure out where they were. "It's bad enough that I had to leave my baby behind, but hopping the pond? That's pushing it."

"I sensed that one of my brothers was making a bad decision that could possibly decide the fate of the planet," Castiel stated, looking off into the distance. Probably scanning the city for any signs of him.

Sam and Dean looked at each other, not entirely sure of what to say to that.

"Uh, care to be a little more specific? And by that, I mean which brother? You seem to have a lot of those," Sam pointed out.

"Samael."

Dean immediately dug out his dad's journal and flipped through it to the section concerning angels. "Cas, you mean to tell me that one of your brothers is the Angel of Death?"

He nodded. "Yes. Though he has been regarded as both good and evil, his chief role is to perform duties that are considered grim and destructive to the rest of us. He is one of the seven archangels, acting as the Chief Ruler of the Fifth Heaven."

"That still doesn't really explain why we're here though. You said that he's a part of something that's going to change the world? Do you know what it is?" Sam insisted.

"I think that we can help you out with that," an American voice replied. The trio whipped around to see a tall man in a long blue coat grinning at them, hanging onto his suspenders. Dean raised his eyebrows at what this guy was wearing; it looked like something out of World War II.

"Hi, Captain Jack Harkness," he said, offering his hand.

"Um, hi. I'm Dean, this is my brother Sam, and that's Castiel, or just Cas," Dean replied, shaking his hand. "How did you know we were out here? You got this place bugged or something?"

Jack chuckled. "Something like that. I think what you're talking about, and what my team and I are working on, are the exact same thing."

"Yeah? What are you working on?" Dean was curious about what this guy was on to. At least they weren't the only Americans that were around here.

"I think that you three better come with us. It'll be easier to explain things when you meet everyone else," Jack explained, walking towards lift. They all followed him, curious. "We're going to have to get pretty cozy if we're all going to fit onto this lift. Hope you don't mind."

"I think we'll be okay. How come we're just standing here anyway? It's not like—ah!" Dean was surprised when the ground started to rise above them, as they descended into some sort of underground headquarters. All three of them looked around, astounded at the enormity of this place.

"Welcome to Torchwood. We operate under a rip in time and space, capturing anything that comes through it, and possessing alien technology to help the human race," Jack stated.

"Whoa. Aliens?" Sam and Dean looked at each other. Demons were one thing, but aliens? This was a whole new territory for both of them.

When they finally reached the ground, they stepped off the lift hesitantly. Looking around, they saw that there were people researching on the computer and some others that were looking like they were in the lounge area, just relaxing. There were three towers in the center of the hub that dwarfed them, while a pterodactyl flew around, cawing away.

"Is that..."

"Yeah. We call him Terry," Owen called out, leaving his office. "Hello there. I'm Dr. Owen Harper. That's Tosh and Gwen over there," he gestured to the two women working on their computers, who hollered "Hello!" and waved at them.

"Hi there," Dean replied, waving back at them. "I'm Dean, that's Sam, and that's Cas," he gestured to the other two men, still in awe.

"Well, nice to have you on board, I guess. So how come you three are here?" Owen asked.

"Samael is my brother," Cas stated.

Owen's eyes widened. "Oh."

"Yeah. I know. But anyway, you want to get us up to speed with what the hell's going on here?" Dean demanded.

"Well, to put it shortly, there are these evil statues called Weeping Angels that have been more vicious than usual. The Lonely Assassins we called them. They're quantum-locked so that whenever they're spotted, they freeze into solid rock. But then you turn your head, or you blink, and they can move. According to the history books, the Weeping Angels were born of the union between Medusa, Atropos, and Samael. Unfortunately, as I hope you three are aware of, Medusa..." Jack started to explain.

"Got her head chopped off. I know. I paid attention in my mythology class," Sam interrupted.

"Right. So apparently her sister Stheno made a deal with those two to continue the line, producing a more vicious breed of Weeping Angels, to avenge the death of her sister," Jack finished.

"It is my duty to reason with Samael in the hopes of stopping this violence," Cas declared.

"Well, you've got your work cut out for you. We were planning on going to the planet of the Weeping Angels and negotiating with them," the Doctor chimed in, with Amy and Rory in tow. "Hello! Hello! And who do we have here?"

"I'm Dean, this is my brother Sam, and that's Cas," he repeated.

"I'm the Doctor. This is Amy and that's Rory," he responded, introducing him and his friends.

"Wait, Doctor who?" Sam asked.

"Just the Doctor. Don't bother asking what his real name is, because I don't think that anyone actually knows his real name. I don't think he even knows," Amy responded, her voice dropping at the last sentence.

"So, what are we doing now?" Cas asked.

"We're just waiting on his friend John to come back and deliver our vortex manipulator," Rory added.

"Sorry? The what?" Dean asked. This was definitely a whole new game for him.

"It allows us to travel through time and space a lot faster than in my TARDIS."

"What's a TARDIS?" Sam asked.

"I'll show you. Come along you three," the Doctor called out to them, leading them to the TARDIS.

They were confused when the Doctor showed them a giant blue box. It looked like one of those red phone booths all over the place in London, only this one said "POLICE BOX" across the top.

"Well come on then! Step inside!" The Doctor hollered, opening the door for them.

They all looked at each other and went inside, unsure of what they were supposed to be expecting. One step inside and they were frozen in place. It was an enormous control room with a giant consoles in the middle. There were walkways leading outward from the center of the room to upper levels of the TARDIS, whatever it meant to the Winchesters and Cas.

"It's," Dean gulped, "bigger on the inside."

"Gallifreyan technology! So much better than the technology here on earth!" The Doctor declared proudly.

"So it's alien?" Cas asked.

"Yes."

"Are YOU an alien?" Sam demanded.

"Yes. I'm a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey, although my planet and people are gone. Eradicated during the Time War. I'm the last of my species."

"Oh dear God..." They all stumbled back against the wall, not having the best time absorbing this information.

"I know, it'll take some getting used to. Culture shock," the Doctor reassured them, peering at how distressed they looked.

"Oh no, it's not that. Believe me, this isn't the first time we've dealt with supernatural things. We hunt demons for a living," Dean explained.

"Fascinating! I'm glad that you've had some experience with unearthly things. I think that you'll all make fine companions."

"Whoa. Whoa. Companions? This isn't some skip down the candy land lane through the peanut brittle forest, Doctor," Dean said suddenly.

"I don't understand that reference..." Cas stated.

"Dean, I know what you're getting at. But that's what I call everyone who travels with me, whether it's for a long time or it's just for one adventure," the Doctor reasoned.

"Even though we've just been introduced to each other?" Sam asked.

"That's how I meet every companion. We all start out as strangers anyhow."

"That makes sense, I guess. But what does the TARDIS have to do with that thing that Jack was talking about earlier?" Sam asked.

"The TARDIS. Time And Relative Dimension In Space. It can travel anywhere and everywhere in time and space," the Doctor elaborated. "Jack's vortex manipulator does what my TARDIS does, but without actually being inside the TARDIS."

"So it's like a motorcycle moving through a traffic jam?"

"Actually, that's a perfect description of what his vortex manipulator is to the TARDIS."

"That's pretty cool, Doc," Sam said appreciatively.

"Thanks. I'd like to think so too. So if his vortex manipulator is the motorcycle, what's the highway that you're traveling on?"

"Oh, that's quite simple really. We travel through the time vortex. Although it's not really so much of a road as compared a road with billions upon billions of exits branching throughout all of time and space itself."

"So time isn't just past, present, and future?"

"No, not really. It's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey wimey...stuff," the Doctor trailed off.

"Well, that's one way of putting it, I suppose," Dean said, scratching his head.

"It's the only way that I can explain it to you humans without you getting so confused."

"Hey! We're not THAT stupid!" Sam scowled.

The Doctor smacked his forehead. "Sorry, I tend to insult your species a lot. I still have my moments where I have to remind myself not to be rude."

"That's okay, Doctor. So what have you all been up to while waiting to receive that device?" Cas asked.

"Well, we've been trying to keep track of how many deaths there have been so far at the hands of the Weeping Angels. So far, it's been a linear increase, which I suppose is better than an exponential one," he replied.

"And how to these Weeping Angels kill people?" Cas asked, more curious because of the mere fact that they were angels.

"There are two ways that the Angels can kill you. The first way is actually much nicer because they just send you back in time to live out your life in another era, feeding off of the time energy difference."

"And what is the other way?"

"When they're desperate for time energy after having been starved of it for a long time, like if they were dormant for hundreds of years, they become much more aggressive and violent. They snap the necks of the victims, killing them instantly."

All three men looked at each other nervously, and then looked at Castiel, who looked the most alarmed.

"Cas, do you know anything about these Weeping Angels? They sound like the nice relative that turned into bloodthirsty psychopaths," Dean noted.

"I am not familiar with these creatures, but I feel that if I met them, I could make their acquaintance."

"How can you make these things your friends if you can't even blink when you look at them?"

"We've come up with a way to communicate with them without having to actually be in physical contact with them. The last time that I dealt with the Weeping Angels, they killed one of the clerics. They reanimated his consciousness so that they were able to speak to us through him."

"Like a ventriloquist and his dummy?"

"Precisely. The Angels, while they're silent to us, are not short on communication capabilities."

"So how are we going to go to this planet without having to deal with I'm assuming Weeping Angels all around us?" Dean wasn't sure how on board he was with this plan. Not like he had much of a choice.

"We were planning on dropping a fresh corpse down there for the Angels to take up and act as our tour guide of sorts to how their planet works."

"And you just happen to have dead bodies lying around?"

"You would have to ask Jack about that. He's the leader of Torchwood Three, which is here," the Doctor admitted.

"This is a lot of information to take in, to be honest," Castiel confessed.

"I know, I know. Well, why don't we get out of here and see what everyone else is up to?"

They nodded and all exited the TARDIS.

As they were walking back to the main part of the hub, where everyone was busy doing their work, they noticed that there were two new figures in the mix. One tall and rather lanky man accompanied by a shorter man who was more solidly built walked into the hub through another doorway at the other end of the room.

"Ah! Sherlock! John! Meet the newest members of our team: Dean, Sam, and Cas. As you saw on our scanners, these are the two Americans and the angel I was telling you about before you and John popped out."

"Wait, how do you know that Cas is an angel?" Dean was shocked because he never said anything about Cas and his identity.

"My scanners can pick up almost everything," the Doctor stated, giving him a _duh_ expression.

"Like I was supposed to know that?" Dean retorted.

"Oi, don't get snippy with me! Remember. Time Lord. Alien. Alien technology," the Doctor stated.

"Yeah, yeah, I know Doc. But anyway, who are these two?" Dean gestured to Sherlock and John.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes and this is my partner, Dr. John Watson," Sherlock stated.

"Wait. Partner like partner-in-crime or _partner _partner?" Sam asked.

"Both, actually," John replied with a quick smile. "So you three are American? Interesting..."

"Why is it that every other country finds us so fascinating?" Castiel asked in wonder.

"Because we find your country's polices so terribly ridiculous and your people utterly idiotic most of the time," Sherlock drawled.

"Hey! That's only one part of the country! If you go to other parts of the States, you can find that those people are very friendly and are quite the intellectual activists. Trust me, we've been all over the country and I can attest to this," Sam snapped.

"Perhaps we should pay a visit to America at some point to test Sam's theory," Sherlock said to John, who snickered.

"It's bad enough that we rag on our own government and the mere stupidity of the politicians, but the last thing that we need is you Brits talking shit about us," Dean added.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and said nothing, but he smirked. He would get along with these new people just fine.


	17. How the Life Goes On

~10 months later~

It was safe to say that everyone found their footing in life with Torchwood while waiting for John Hart to arrive. After a while, the Rift activity died down enough to the point where the case of the Weeping Angels wasn't that **too** much on their radar. They were able to anticipate where they could appear, and could manipulate the environment around the intended victims so that they could avoid getting into contact with them. Mainly it was just tinkering with the wiring in their relative's homes so that they would be forced to call them and have them come home and fix it.

As of late, the Rift activity was starting to fluctuate to higher levels to the point where everyone was starting to get worried about whether or not he was actually going to show up. Not that they could do much until he came through.

Rory and John found work at a local clinic easily with their credentials. It was definitely more mundane than their previous departments, but mundane worked well with their life in Torchwood. John had moved in with Sherlock and they often came home exhausted, but not exhausted enough that they couldn't get in a quick shag.

Sherlock continued to assist both Torchwood and the South Wales Police in order to keep his mind active. Him and his colleagues in the police department often shared stories about their past cases, making for great times in the staff lounge. Pity this wasn't going to last forever; he had grown fond of his co-workers. He definitely liked working more with the Welsh than the English.

Amy continued to work on her second book. Most of the time, she was found sitting on the couch behind the computers asking everyone for their input, typing madly on her laptop. She was almost always on her phone with her editor, who was more than happy to make the monthly trip to Cardiff to meet up with her to discuss the progress of her book. Alongside working on her book, she also still wrote travel articles, but was able to negotiate a deal with her boss. The article she wrote would be published in the local travel magazines in Cardiff.

* * *

Sam, Dean, and Cas had to get used to life in Cardiff without the Impala. Thanks to the wonderful technology of Torchwood and its never ending abilities to track down everything under the sun, they were still able to do some demon hunting. There definitely wasn't a shortage of demons in Cardiff, whether they were in the city or in the suburbs.

Dean missed his baby though.

While they could use the Valley Lines to get to the suburbs from the city, and use the buses as well, it wasn't the same. Seeing how bummed out his brother was, Sam had told the Doctor what happened. One evening when they were all eating dinner, Sam and the Doctor popped out, claiming to get some more soda. In reality, Sam had given the Doctor the coordinates to where the Impala was, materializing not more than 5 minutes after they left their car in the parking garage in the airport. It took a lot more effort than they thought to get the Impala into the TARDIS, but they returned to Cardiff as soon as they got it inside.

Everyone heard the _VWORP VWORP VWORP _but paid no mind to it, until they heard the roar of an engine. They all looked at each other and then jumped when they heard a bang and a crash as a chair collapsed to the floor.

Dean practically sprinted across the Hub, seriously considering that he was just hearing things. But as soon as he saw his baby outside of the TARDIS, he knew that it wasn't his hearing. The Doctor and Sam were leaning against the doorway, looking extremely pleased with themselves. They swore they busted a gut laughing as Dean hugged it and talked to it, while stroking it soothingly.

"I'm sorry, Baby. I'll never leave you again," Dean cooed, essentially being out on the hood of the car.

"Dude, this is way too priceless," Sam wheezed out.

Dean snapped up from the hood and glared at Sam. His gaze softened though as he strolled up to him and embraced him. "Dude, I can't thank you enough for bringing my baby."

Sam clapped him on his back and hugged him back. "You just looked so depressed without the Impala, I couldn't bear to see you like that anymore. So I had a little help from the Doctor to get it back here."

Dean turned to the Doctor and hugged him too. "Thanks, Doc. I really appreciate."

"It was my pleasure. You've got a really cool brother, you know," the Doctor replied.

Dean and Sam smiled at each other. "Yeah, I do. He's my little-pain-in-the-ass brother, but he's my best friend too."

"I bet you two are hungry. We just started eating dinner when you left and we saved some food for you," Dean called out to them as he started walking back to the conference room, with Sam and the Doctor following behind him.

"Awesome. I'm starving," Sam replied.

"Did Ianto—"

"Yes, Doc. He got your fish fingers and custard."

* * *

It was getting late in the evening. After dinner, they hung out in the conference room, just talking about the lives they lead before they all ended up getting involved with Torchwood.

Suddenly, there was a bright flash of golden light as a man wearing the same era clothing as Jack appeared in the center of the Hub. Amy poked her head around the corner and saw him.

"Jack, I think John is here."

"Hey there, Jacko," John Hart greeted while strolling into the conference room. He gave Jack a big hug.

"It's good to see you John," Jack replied, grinning.

John pulled out an older model of a vortex manipulator from his pocket and handed it over to Jack, who tossed it to the Doctor.

"Well, I might as well introduce you to the new members of the team. Meet Sam, Dean, and Cas," Jack said, gesturing to the three men.

John gave them a look of approval. "Jack, you always get the cute members. How come I don't get any of those?"

The three men looked at each other and Dean spoke up first. "You're talking about us?"

"Who else would I be talking about? I've already told Jack and the other members of his team that I think that they were all pretty attractive," John said with a wink.

"I'm flattered that you think so. But, I'm not really looking for anything," Dean responded, smiling sheepishly.

John Hart chuckled. "I wasn't expecting anything to come out of it. I just flirt naturally with everyone that I meet. It's a quirk from being from the 51st century, which is where Jack is from too."

"You two are from the future?" Sam asked, jaw dropped.

"Yup. It's kind of a long story of how I got here, so I'll spare you the bedtime story," Jack chimed in.

"We've been here for 10 months, Jack. How come you didn't tell us about this? It's not like we haven't dealt with freaky shit before," Sam explained.

"I know that, Sam. But I just didn't want to throw even more information at you that I didn't think that you could handle. It was a long time before these people," he nodded to Gwen, Owen, and Tosh, "knew even one thing about me. You'll learn more about me in time."

"Well, that makes me feel a little better, I guess. But still, culture shock," Sam shrugged.

"That's what you get for hanging out with this guy here," John said, jabbing his thumb at Jack.

"Trust me, you're not the first ones," Sherlock added.

"Anyway, I can't thank you enough for lending this manipulator to us. We really, really appreciate it," Jack sighed with relief.

"Anything for an old friend of mine."

"I'll take you back to, where is it, Mexico?"

"That's right. Well, it was nice meeting all of you," John said, winking at everyone before linking arms with Jack and disappearing once more.

There was an awkward silence again before Jack reappeared.

"Now that we've got this taken care of, the last thing that we need to do before is figure out where Moran is," the Doctor stated.

"Right, so how do you think that he could possibly make a deal with the Angels?" John asked.

"Well, there's only one way that he could work with them. I think that he would have to become an Angel himself."

"How can a human become an Angel? I thought that Angels could turn other statues into Angels," Sherlock said, a little bit confused. His eyes flitted around before they widened. "Oh. Obvious."

"Sherlock, want to tell us how a human could become an Angel?" the Doctor started.

"Actually, I think that **I** can explain it Doctor, since it almost happened to **me**," Amy cut in. "I stared right into its eyes. It burned itself into my eyes and started to infiltrate my mind. They spoke through me, made me hallucinate that I was turning into one of them."

Rory stared at her. "How come you never told me this?"

She looked at him, her mouth tilted into a small smiled. "Because it didn't really matter after that. I'm fine Rory, I promise."

"So what? Moran stared into the eyes of a Weeping Angel and became one of them?" Sherlock asked.

"It would seem so. My sensors picked him up earlier, honing on a signal from him, which turned out to be his communication with another Weeping Angel, far, far, away," the Doctor clarified.

"Is there anything that your TARDIS can't do or pick up?" John asked.

"Well, it can't handle being around Weeping Angels, which is why we have the vortex manipulators in the first place," the Doctor replied.

"Did you get that manipulator from that nice Time Agent?" River asked.

"Yes, honey," the Doctor replied. He wasn't always that fond of when River nagged him.

"Right. So, now that we have everything that we need, why are we still here?" River asked.

"I think that we still need to come up with a well-thought out plan with contingencies in case things go wrong," John suggested, hopeful.

"You're right, John. But I think that we need to rest for the night and come back tomorrow morning with a fresh mind to get things in order."


	18. Let's Get Down to Business

Everyone gathered in the conference room later the next evening, after John and Rory had spent some time working at the clinic. Ianto had gone out and bought Thai food for everyone, including the Doctor, who had grown to like it after some initial hesitation.

Jack and the Doctor were at the head of the table, ready to lead the meeting. Everyone else sat down, ready to receive the orders.

"Why don't you all dig in while the Doctor and I get the meeting started," Jack advised. Everyone took a container, grabbed their utensils and started stuffing their faces as the Doctor pulled up something onto the projection screen.

"This is the planet Mortiferum Lapis, or deadly stone in Latin. The planet of the Weeping Angels. After some careful observation, it's not totally covered with Angels as we initially thought, given that their main purpose is to be born on this planet and sent off into every corner of the universe. That being said, the highest source of the Weeping Angels is in the Capitol, where the population and the monarchy of the Weeping Angels reside."

"Hold up. These things have a monarchy? I thought that system had died out, except for in the UK, or whatever," Sam cut in.

"Well, they have to have some system of ruling. Given that they're come of the oldest creatures in the universe, it makes sense that their system is a little older," the Doctor explained. "Anyway, so every so often, probably every 10,000 years, they have someone new ascend the throne. Before you ask, the reason that it takes so long for a new heir to ascend the throne is because they take forever to die out. As of late, they have mostly been a benevolent species, only sending people back in time. But sources have indicated that there has been a new ascension to the throne, but it's not a native species. It seems that Sebastian Moran, who had recently been in hiding, has come into the light after willing transformed himself into a Weeping Angel and allowing them to take him. With his history of violence and vindictive nature and association with the former Napoleon of Crime, James Moriarty, it would make sense for Stheno to allow him entrance into their kingdom. But I didn't foresee that they would allow him to become their leader."

"S-so, Moran is the **King **of the Weeping Angels now? He's not just Moriarty's right hand man?" John wasn't so sure about going to deal with a sniper who could now command an entire army of psychopathic statues.

"It would seem so. Sherlock," the Doctor turned to look at him. "I know that Moran is the last man in Moriarty's web and I know you have every intention of taking him down. But are you still sure that you want to do this? This is going to be especially risky for you."

"Yes. This is the last task I have to do before I can rest easy, knowing that I've taken him down, once and for all," Sherlock declared.

The Doctor nodded. "Very well. So, here's the plan. We're going to take one of Jack's corpses, human or not, with a communicator attached and we're going to literally drop it in the Capitol of the Weeping Angels, allowing them to reanimate its consciousness. We'll be on the outer edges of the planet, further away from the general population, and we'll be able to communicate with them initially, but we'll move in if we have to."

"What about contingencies, Doctor? Like if we get separated?" John asked

"This is why we have three communicators. Because there are so many of us, we can divide up into three groups so it'll be easier to keep everyone together."

"But what if one of us gets caught by the Weeping Angel? What happens then?" Rory asked.

The Doctor paced around a little bit, aware of the high possibilities of this happening. "The vortex communicators can transport us with a single touch of the button. The main thing that matters is that as long as the groups are all touching each other, we can all transport safely."

"Can't the Weeping Angels hold onto us even if we're being transported with the vortex manipulator? They're still able to feed off of that time energy," Amy noted.

"That still applies. The best plan is to not. Wander. Off. I'm looking at you, Sherlock," the Doctor peered at him. "I've heard about your tendency to leave others behind because you have an insatiable curiosity. But this is not the time to be doing that. Everyone's lives, and I mean everyone's, are at risk here!"

"I believe that I could be of use here. My brother is a part of this whole plan and I am obligated do my part. I would like to negotiate with Samael," Cas offered.

"Cas, that's a brilliant idea. I think that you'll be very helpful in our plan. Do you think that can talk to Samael first to find out why things have been changing so much with them?" Jack asked him, impressed at his desire to jump right into the action.

"It would be my honor to, Jack."

"Alright, so after we talk to them and get to know each other and get all cozy with this fucking statues, what happens next? I know that Sherlock wants to just charge in there and go to town on Moran, but it's not exactly the brightest idea out there," Owen cut in.

"How are we going to end things? You can't exactly kill stone," John stated.

"But you can sure as hell blow it up," Dean announced. "Trust me Doc, we have more than enough stuff to help with that." He disappeared and came back with his backpack and dumped its contents out onto the table.

"Don't forget Doctor, we also have a whole armory of alien technology. There's bound to be something in our arsenal that the Weeping Angels haven't seen before," Jack asserted.

"But here's the thing. How would you blow them up if the only time you can see them is when you're looking at them?" Owen asked.

"A bomb, maybe?" Sam suggested. "You know, we place it all over the place, and just before they all go skyhigh, we teleport out of there?"

"Sam, the problem with that is that we would have to have really good timing to avoid getting blown up with them," Rory countered.

"Ah yeah, that could be very problematic."

"But I like where everyone's going with this," Jack admitted. "Doctor, what do you think of these ideas?"

"Rory's right though in that it would have to be very precise timing. However, I think that it's a risk that we're going to have to take in order to eliminate the Weeping Angels once and for all," the Doctor decided.

"So, when are you all leaving?" Tosh urged. "The sooner we leave, the sooner that we can eliminate the source and contain the situation here on Earth. According to my calculations, if all things go according to plan, then Rift activity should go down to near baseline levels."

"Wait, are you not coming with us, Tosh?" John asked.

She shook her head. "Someone's going to need to stay here and keep you updated on the location of incoming Weeping Angels."

Jack nodded. "Do what you need to do, Tosh. But, as for everyone else, I think that it would be best if we left tomorrow. I know that we covered a lot of ground today and got a lot of information. Sam, Dean, Cas, you can crash here for the night, or you can stay with the Doctor. I know that he's got plenty of spare rooms in that thing."

"Alright. Doc, is it alright if we crash in your TARDIS tonight? We literally just arrived here when World War II over here picked us up," Dean asked him.

"Sure thing. Amy, go show them to their rooms, alright?"

"Yeah. Come on you three. You're going to want to stick with me if you're going to find your rooms," she called out to them as they left the conference room.

* * *

"This place truly is bigger on the inside. I do not believe I will ever get over it," Cas stated. The three men had trouble keeping up with Amy as she darted around corners and up way too many staircases, eventually leading them to a bedroom with a bunkbed and a lofted bed. "You boys can decide who gets what bed."

She left them to their own devices.

"I call the bottom bunk," Sam blurted out and

Dean rolled his eyes, but turned out the light before climbing up the ladder anyhow. Cas followed suit with the other bed. They weren't exactly sure what they were getting themselves into. If anything, they would rather take demons over dealing with psychopathic killer statues.

They were willing to take a risk though if it meant helping save the world.

* * *

Soon after Amy and the trio of demon hunters left, the Doctor, River, and Rory followed, wishing everyone good night.

"Sir, is there anything that you want me to do for tomorrow?" Ianto asked, while picking up all the takeaway containers and stuffing them in the trash.

"Not that I can think of. But I would really appreciate it if you stayed here and keep Tosh company," Jack replied.

Ianto was about to object with Jack put up his hand, a certain pain in his eyes. "I have no idea what we're dealing with here, to be honest with you. While I know that you're more than fully capable of defending yourself, as you've proven multiple times since you're a lot more active by coming on missions with us, I couldn't bear it if something happened to you while we were there."

There had been speculation for a while amongst the group as to whether or not Ianto and Jack were together. More often than not, the assumption was that they were. Gwen was probably the most aware of these events, given that she walked in on them one time. Owen knew too, but he made it a point not to really bring it up because it didn't change anything.

Sherlock and John were talking quietly amongst themselves, watching the conversation out of the corner of their eye unfold. Sherlock was doing his Holmesian deduction, while John was watching it with his own method of observation which wasn't that too much unlike Sherlock's. Any way that it ran, they came up with the same conclusion that Jack and Ianto clearly cared about each other, but that Jack was ultimately the one in control of things.

"I don't know exactly what I could do for all of you tomorrow, but I know that I am more than capable, **sir,**" Ianto stressed drew out the sir in the hopes of appealing to Jack's dominance over him.

He caught onto it and his eyes wavered, an indication of possibly giving into Ianto's request, but he held firm. Jack clapped a hand onto Ianto's shoulder and gave him a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry, Ianto. But my word as leader is final. You're staying here safe and sound with Tosh. We'll be back faster than you can buy the Chinese food from the corner."

Ianto sighed, but smiled back. "Don't count on it, sir. I'm very efficient at my job."

"I know you are."

They stared at each other for what felt like forever before someone made a move. Jack leaned in and kissed him. As much as the detective and his doctor wanted to cheer because this was probably the first time that they made their affection known in public, they stayed quiet. The only giveaway of their emotions were the grins that almost split their faces in half.

"Sir..." Ianto was a little taken aback by the show of affection, but stared at Jack in wonder.

"Take the rest of the night off, Ianto, alright?" Jack requested.

"As you wish, sir."

Ianto left the conference room with a gentle smile.

"As for you two lovebirds," he turned to Sherlock and John, who suddenly became anxious, "go home. Don't worry, I won't spill the beans about the fact that you two have been going at like rabbits—"

"But—," they both protested while blushing a furious scarlet.

"—but I think it's great that you're working things out. Anyway, be back here tomorrow afternoon. Actually, any time works. Not like any specific time of day is going to play a part in when we travel to the outer corners of the universe. Good night, you two!" Jack left them alone in the conference room.

"...are we really that obvious?" Sherlock asked, unsure.

"You leave more bite marks on me than Dracula left on his victims," John said in a deadpan voice.

"Oh. I thought I was being more careful with that."

"You being careful when it comes to things like that isn't really your strong suit, love. C'mon. Let's go home."


	19. to Defeat the Weeping Angels

Everyone was in the Hub the next day, arming themselves for whatever came next before they went off to Mortiferum Lapis.

The Doctor, River, and Tosh were working together to link up the coordinates on her computer for Rift activity signatures that are linked to the Weeping Angels.

"And you're sure that this is going to work? I thought that this would work in theory, but knowing what you've told me, I'm not so sure anymore..." Tosh was confident in her ability in other cases, but when it came to silent assassins like these, she wasn't sure.

"This is why we're doing everything we can to calibrate your computer to link onto the Angels. In the event that it doesn't, then we know we've tried our best," River replied soothingly.

Tosh nodded and resumed working.

#

Amy, Rory, Sherlock, John, and the Winchesters were in the armory, trying to pick out the best weapons to arm themselves against the Weeping Angels.

"What do you think about this?" Dean held up his shotgun, giving it a look of reverence.

"Dean, you do realize what we're going up against, right? They turn into solid rock when you look at them. It doesn't matter what you shoot at them, there's no way that they're going to just blast into a million pieces just like that," Amy explained.

"It's better than nothing! Look, these things seem pretty much impossible to kill based on what we've learned."

"Well, what about using a mirror?" Dam suggested. Everyone looked at him and he took a step back. "That's how Perseus defeated Medusa, remember? He used a mirror to force her to look into her own reflection to turn her into stone."

"But then you have the situation of the image of an Angel becoming an Angel. So ultimately, you'd just be creating more Angels," Sherlock countered.

"Oh. Right."

"Good idea though, Sam."

"But it's worth a shot though, isn't it?"

"I suppose so. But I think that we better get the Doctor in here and get his input on it."

Rory left the armory to get the Doctor and returned a little while later.

"Alright you lot, what have you got for me?"

Sam stepped forward a little bit. "Doctor, there was this idea that I came up with. You know how Perseus used a mirrored shield to force Medusa to look into her own reflection? Well what if we did the same thing with the Weeping Angels?"

"While I like the idea of it, you do run the risk of the image of the Angel—"

"Becoming an Angel, I know. I just thought that it was better than trying to blow them up with a shotgun."

"But I say that it's better than nothing at all. I remember the first time that I faced them, the only way that I could sort of defeat them was to make them face each other so that they were eternally locked in place. That was a tricky method though. I suppose that if you lot try and get a plan together like that, then I think that we stand a better chance of staying alive while we're there," the Doctor explained.

Everyone looked at each other, a little uneasy.

"So how did you do it, Doctor?" Sherlock asked, curious.

"I had a woman named Sally Sparrow locate the TARDIS when it was stolen from me and place a disc inside the console, activating an emergency protocol. I'm pretty sure I gave them an awful fright that the TARDIS was de-materializing without them while a group of Weeping Angels was trying to steal it. Anyway, the result was that the TARDIS left them behind, but it left all of the Weeping Angels looking at each other."

"The old bait and switch. I like it," Dean stated.

"Precisely. Again, if you can think of a plan like that, run it by me and I can let you know if it works or not."

With that, the Doctor left them to their own devices.

* * *

Castiel and Jack were reading up files on the Weeping Angels in the library. Luckily, there were files in Enochian, so it made it a little bit easier for Castiel to understand them.

"Ah, Cas. There you are! So do you think that you can help us with all the information that I've provided for you?" the Doctor asked.

"I believe so, Doctor. My only question is why do these Weeping Angels seek out all these innocent people and force them back in time or kill them savagely?"

"That's how they survive, Cas. They need the time energy like humans need air and food to survive. That's really the only explanation that I can give you."

Castiel nodded slowly and resumed reading slowly. "Doctor?"

"Hm?"

"While I am bonded to Samael in blood, my biggest concern is that he will not be up for negotiation or even for explanation of his actions," Castiel explained.

"And you think it's because of what he does? Because he's the Angel of Death?" Jack asked.

"Yes."

"I believe that all beings in this universe are capable of being negotiated with. So I understand where your worries are. But if you speak to him like you've spoken to us, calm and collected, I'm sure that you can reason with him," the Doctor reasoned.

"If you say so, Doctor," Castiel said quietly.

"Cas, I've heard what you've done from Dean and Sam. If you're everything that they say you are, I know you're going to be absolutely fantastic," Jack confided.

"You believe so?" Castiel smiled.

"Totally."

* * *

After all the preparations and a discussion of the layout of the planet and the best places for them to teleport to, everyone gathered in the center of the Hub.

They divided into three groups of four, with one person in each group equipped with a vortex manipulator in the events that things went sour.

The first group was Amy, Rory, the Doctor, and River, with River holding onto the manipulator. While the Doctor insisted that he should have the manipulator, River argued with him that out of all of them, she was the most level-headed under pressure.

"She's got a point, Doctor," Amy said.

"You're siding with **her**?**" **the Doctor replied, surprised.

"Well, yeah. She didn't get everything from Madame Kovarian, remember?" Amy reminded him. "She has my stubbornness and conviction."

River gave him a "told you" look.

"Alright, I'll let River hold onto the vortex manipulator."

The second group had Jack, Gwen, Sherlock, and John. There weren't any real issues at all when it came to decide who got the manipulator. But the only request was that John wanted to stay with Sherlock, no matter what happened.

"John, this is ridiculous. I know how to protect myself!" Sherlock hissed.

"Don't you think I know that?! I just...," he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I just need to know that if anything were to happen to you, I can actually do something about it..."

Sherlock didn't need to ask what he was referring to. It had been a long time since either of them brought up his fake suicide, but he hated that John was still beating himself up about it. He hugged John and kissed him on the top of head.

"John, that's all in the past now. You need to stop beating yourself up about this," Sherlock whispered into his hair.

"I know, I know." His voice was muffled in Sherlock's t-shirt as he buried himself in his chest.

"John, we've all got your back. You've been with us for a long time and you know how we operate: nobody gets left behind," Gwen declared, rubbing his back soothingly. She smiled when she felt his back muscles slowly start to relax. "Plus, if Sherlock ever wandered off, you know that I would keep his ass in line."

John laughed. "And this is why we're such great friends. I don't have to be the only one to mother Sherlock."

"Believe me, I have to do it for all these idiots," Gwen smirked. "Sometimes I wonder if this is what my mother went through with me and all my siblings when we were growing up."

"How many siblings do you have?" Sherlock asked.

"Three brothers. I was the oldest, so I had to help my mum out when we were growing up. Homework, girl problems, basic hygiene," she chuckled. "They wanted to make me bash my head against a wall, but I love them to death."

"Sounds like you and your brothers were pretty close," Jack commented.

"We still are. Granted they're both freaked out and excited that their big sister's job is basically catching aliens, you can imagine how often they call me, demanding that I tell them stories from work, it's safe to say that they still want me in their lives. Well, in some form of it, anyhow."

"I wish I was close with Harry like I was with your siblings," John commented.

"I think my relationship with my dear brother Mycroft is tedious enough already," Sherlock added.

"And by tedious, you mean by the fact that he stalks you by putting cameras in your flat and having cars always following you around," Jack pointed out. He couldn't even begin to count the times that he's found cameras all over the Hub, or the number of phone calls and texts that he's received from Mycroft, asking for updates. He was curious when he was contacted by the older Holmes brother, asking if Sherlock could be of assistance in working for Torchwood. While Sherlock came to work for them in probably the most roundabout way, at least Mycroft got what he wanted out of it for his little brother.

"Exactly," he growled.

"Sherlock, he's your big brother. Of course he's going to be overprotective of you sometimes. I'm still like that with my brothers every and now and then," Gwen said.

"Even though you're all grown adults?"

"Yeah. We're all adults here, but they'll always be my little brothers."

"I just don't understand why he has to do it with all the cameras. Getting texts from him is irritating enough. I don't need any more cameras."

Jack whistled. "Wow, you really don't like your brother, do you?"

"It's a sibling rivalry that they've had since they were little. According to Mycroft, the Christmas dinners were particularly...interesting, although he didn't elaborate on anything more than that," John mentioned.

"When did he tell you this?" Sherlock asked.

"The first day we met. By the way, you don't mind holding onto that body," he gestured to the body bag containing a dead Weevil inside, "do you? I know that Owen put you in charge of that, as well as for attaching the communicator to it, but still..."

"Relax. It won't be a problem at all."

"Whatever you say."

* * *

The final group was Owen, Sam, Sean, and Cas. Because of the Winchesters' and Cas' minimal experience with technology even though they've been sort of working with Torchwood for almost a year, Owen was put in charge of the manipulator.

"Now, remember you lot, we need to stick together," Owen reminded them, strapping in a revolver into the holder wrapped around his back.

"Yes, _mom_," Dean drawled out, fixing his shotgun behind his back.

"I still don't know why you insisted on bringing the guns. It's not like it's going to do anything to them," Amy called from across the room. Dean had more than enough guns in his back seat to lend to those who didn't have one. The Doctor protested that he didn't believe in guns and didn't need one, but Amy fixed him a look that reminded him of when they were in the town called Mercy.

"Doctor, in my defense, these are to protect ourselves, not necessarily to kill the Angels with," Dean said.

"So what, we're going to somehow intimidate statues with these?" Owen asked, tucking a pistol in his jeans.

"Something like that. Look, you all know the plan, right?" Sam asked everyone.

There was a collected sound of agreement. "Do you think that this will work?" John asked.

"I talked to the Doctor about it, and it's pretty much how he got those two people out of a bind the first time that he dealt with the Weeping Angels," Sam explained.

"We'll be like sitting ducks!" Amy cried out. "Doctor, we talked about this plan before and you said that you wouldn't want to do it again! What made you change your mind?"

"The reason that we have the vortex manipulator is not only for transportation, but it also allows us to coordinate simultaneous attacks against the Weeping Angels, so that we can take them out in large groups at a time," the Doctor insisted. "Look Amy, I know you're the most frightened out of all of us—"

"I'm not scared, Doctor," she snapped.

"I—...You know that we've got this way more planned out than when we were on the _Byzantium._ It's full of more precautions in case things go wrong, which I can't promise won't happen."

"I know, Raggedy Man. I just...I'm trying to be brave—"

"And you ARE. My Amelia," he kissed her on the forehead. "My little Amelia Pond. The girl who waited. The girl with the name from a fairytale."

"Amy, we're all in this together. Don't forget that," Gwen reassured her. The two had become closer over the course of time that they've been together and had become really good friends. They had bonded way too often over the antics of their husbands and of the strange men in their lives they call friends.

"Alright." She sighed and shook out the jitters from her shoulders. "I'm ready."

* * *

"Tosh, you got the coordinates ready?" Jack called out.

She was at her computer, doing the final checks.

"Got it. Sending them to you," she clacked away at her keyboard, "now."

All three vortex manipulators blipped as they received the coordinates.

"Alright everybody, we're going to need team names so that we can keep track of each other. Now I know that I gave all of you communicators in the event you get separated from your groups, but it would be beneficial if each team had a name so that we can check in," Jack instructed.

"Team Free Will," Dean blurted out.

"Team TARDIS," Amy suggested.

"Team...TorchLock," Gwen decided.

"Are you all ready?" Jack asked them one more time.

Dean cocked his shotgun. "Let's go knock out some Weeping Angels."

"On my signal, transport your team. Remember to have at least one point of contact between all of you," Jack commanded. Everyone grabbed each other's arms in an almost painful grip, now even more nervous than ever.

"One..." Amy's heart was about to bust out of her ribcage, but tightening her grip on her gun somehow made her calmer.

"Two..." Castiel was ready to reason with his brother, but was still unsure of how much he could do with that.

"NOW!"

Everyone pressed the button on their vortex manipulator, taking them from the warm, safe, space of Torchwood, to the cold and barren planet of the Weeping Angels.


End file.
